


Home Free

by scratchienails



Category: One Piece
Genre: Action/Adventure, Conspiracy, Family Feels, Friendship, Gen, Marine Strawhats, On Hiatus haha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-06
Updated: 2015-08-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 07:33:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4513311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scratchienails/pseuds/scratchienails
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garp got his wish, and his youngest grandson became a marine. Monkey D. Luffy has worked hard to earn the position of vice-admiral, and is now head of one of the Marine’s GL bases, G-9. With some of the wackiest people imaginable making up their forces, this particular base hides more secrets from the government than for, and the poor pirates that wander by truly have no idea what they’re in for. But when they capture one of Whitebeard’s commanders, both their lives, their families, and their secrets are put in danger. There’s a war on the rise, and this base is right in the middle!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Wake Up

Thatch woke up to bright light, which was funny 'cause he hadn't expected to wake up at all.

And he expected even less to wake up in chains.

Swallowing down panic, he checked his surroundings, finding he was in some sort of infirmary, on a scratchy bed with green sheets. Numerous IVs were gathered all around him, the needles and tape pinching the skin of his forearms when he shifted them. He was surprisingly warm, dressed in some sort of hospital gown and underneath several blankets, but his exposed arms were freezing as cold antibiotic flowed through the intravascular tubes. Much less comfortably, there were shackles around his wrists, the chains disappearing underneath his bed. They were seastone, even though he had no devil fruit ability, but it  _was_  hardest thing on the seas. Once they figured out he wasn't a fruit user, they'd hopefully switch them out for regular iron cuffs.

_They_  being the marines, who were obviously the ones to capture him seeing as their seagull mark was painted proudly on the wall opposing him.

But asides the chains, he was rather surprised by the good treatment. The infirmary was void of any people but open, curtains of bright colors or pretty patterns lining the walls that could be drawn around each bed, and his own was the one closest to the window. The sun shined cheerily in, and it overlooked a glittering bay, marine warships soaring over the waters. He didn't mind that as much as one might think, because hey, it wasn't Impel Down, and well, that was always a blessing.

Even more of a blessing was the fact that the marines had treated his wounds, apparently even the  _gaping hole in his back_ , and not just dumped his mutilated body in an underground cell to die of infection, if blood loss didn't get him first.

He didn't dare sit up, because well, hole, back, spinal cord, guts spilling out... but it was rather nice to be alive, even if he was in custody. Maybe the guys would come and rescue him, if they didn't already think him dead.

The entrance to the infirmary was open, and eventually a nurse wandered in, carrying all sorts of medical supplies, from syringes to cotton balls. She squeaked when she noticed him awake, quickly packing all the stock away in cabinets spread about the room before nervously approaching him.

It took him a few seconds to notice the white wings on her back, sticking out of her pale pink scrubs. A skypeian? Unusual, but she was pretty, with blond hair and full lips.

"Heso." She greeted, probably out of nerve induced habit. He wasn't offended by how anxious she was, because, well, he was a scary pirate.

"Yo."

"How are you feeling?" She smiled a little, relaxing a bit, obviously comforted by his nonchalant response. He thought about the answer for a few moments, realizing he felt no pain despite his condition.

"Pretty good, all considering." The nurse laughed a little, and a white fox appeared from under one of the beds.

"That's the painkillers talking," She teased, before coming closer to inspect his shackles. "Are they alright? Not too tight?"

"Well, they're okay, but I don't suppose you're allowed to take them off?" He joked, and was rewarded with another giggle.

"Ah, no, but you're not in any condition to go anywhere anyway. You probably will not be able to walk for another few weeks." Ugh, that was no good. So escaping this place by himself was off the table, huh? Great. "The doctor will be able to tell you about your condition more, so I'll go fetch him, alright?" He nodded, hoping that the doctor was at least as nice as her. Some marine medical staff were just as cruel as jailers to pirates, particularly big shots like him.

But he was also pretty hungry. He wondered if he'd be able to eat food, or would have to be fed through a tube. "Could I, uh, get something to eat at well?" He called after her as she slipped out of the room, but only received a smile.

* * *

Luffy hated paperwork. It was bland, boring, and never made too much sense, because really, those were long words in tiny font and what the heck did  _cynosure_  mean?

"Cynosure, sea-no-suuure. Cyan-not-sure? Huh?"

"It's a focal point, sir."

"Ah, 'hank you, 'hankyou. Eh, wait... whatsit point? Eh, who cares." Luffy frowned at the page, before carelessly crumpling it and tossing it over his shoulder. His secretary could get it later. Thoroughly disinterested in the other papers, he focused his attention on the visitor in his office. Rear-admiral X Drake stood at attention, expression as horribly serious as ever, and his eyes were even more grave than usual, though there was a light of excitement gleaming there as well.

"Dino! Hey, you're back already?"

The strawberry-blond haired man nodded, his hands clasped behind his back. "My men and I have reported back from patrol early with bad news, I'm afraid, sir." The answer was curt, ignoring the base commander's informal tone and eager greeting. Luffy barely held in a pout. Everyone was being too serious today.

"What's up?"

"The pirates in the area are restless, sir."

Luffy blinked, confused. That hardly warranted Drake coming directly to his office in person. "Uhhh, so? What's the problem? Just round 'em up."

"The problem, sir, is that there are  _pirates_  in the area." Oh. Now he gets it. They were a remote base in the New World, the islands beyond them uninhabitable and unfriendly to even the strongest pirates on the seas. No resources were to be found on this strain of islands, resulting in this particular path in the Grand Line where each subsequent island just got hotter and drier. Each was caught in a perpetual summer, and since they were summer islands to begin with, they were known for their record temperatures. Most were nothing but hills of sand rising from the water; sailors that continued onward in hope of land and supplies ended up dying of dehydration. Their base was the first in the line, the only island with a pleasant, tropical climate, and since nothing past them was worth fighting to reach, most navigators just steered their ships for the other two options of the log post. Pirates sailing towards them meant that they were specifically seeking their base out.

"Do they know?"

X Drake reached into his coat and pulled out a magazine, its cover still glossy and fresh. Across the cover was 'Pirates' Monthly' in bold black and gold font, along with a jolly roger with a white mustache. Across the entire page was a red word, as if it had been stamped, 'Captured'.

"Oh... 'Kay, this is no good." He groaned as he flipped through the pages, eventually skimming over the article the cover advertised. "Damn. It doesn't mention our base, though."

"Most likely, Whitebeard's allies are scoping out all the New World navy bases, trying to locate the ship their comrade is being transported on. They have been harassing many of our warships and patrols; currently the Control Tower is directing multiple skirmishes."

"Geez, they should tell me these things." Luffy whined. He was the base commander, if there was trouble brewing they were supposed to report in.

"They are unaware of the situation, you are the first I've informed of the article, and regular pirate activity hardly requires the supervision of the commander." Informing everyone else would be bad, as it would make the troops and staff skittish. Being the direct focus of New World pirates always rattled Marines below the rank of captain, the sole exception being the crazy men of G-5.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, I know. I'll have Usopp alert them that they're dealing with scouts..." He flipped through the magazine some more, curiosity rinsing. "Wow, how'd you manage to get one of these?"

X Drake shifted uncomfortably, obviously baffled by the topic change, but then the secretary poked his head in.

"Luffy, he's awake."

The rear-admiral stiffened, and opened his mouth to advise his commanding officer, but the younger man was already up and across the room, with an excited giggle. "Really?!" And he was gone, down the hall.

Such a child. X Drake sighed. The secretary gave him a sympathetic look. "Don't worry; I called Sanji to go with him. Are you going to be departing again?"

"Yes," The rear-admiral confirmed, already considering tactical moves and where his division would be most needed. He turned to collect the magazine from his superior's desk, only to find it gone.

Ah, the kid had taken it with him.

* * *

The doctor wasn't exactly what Thatch expected either.

"Uhhhh..." He blinked at the furball in a pink hat that had clip-clopped in on two hooved feet. He was tiny and covered in brown fur, with big round eyes and antlers, of all things. He wore shorts too, which was pretty strange, because Thatch was certain he was some kind of deer or moose.

But then, the fluffy creature  _grew_ , six feet at least, gaining muscle and thinning out his fur until he could probably pass off for a really,  _really_  hairy man, with broad shoulders and bulky mass, except for maybe the blue, leathery nose. The abominable snowman shrugged on a white coat and stethoscope was fitted around his neck.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Tony Tony Chopper, nice to meet you!" The beast greeted him cheerfully, pulling on latex gloves over recently gained fingers. Thatch stared as the monster-doctor picked up a clipboard. "Thatch, right?"

"Uh, yeah." He answered hesitantly, figuring that denying it would be pointless. They obviously already knew who they had in custody. "Not to be rude, but what are you exactly?"

The yeti blinked, and scowled a little. "I'm a reindeer."

"...'Kay." A r _eindeer_. Well, that explained everything. The Navy just got stranger and stranger these days. Maybe this was a joke? Entrust the life of Whitebeard's scion to freaky talking animals and see how painfully he dies?

Or was this guy some kind of Zoan fruit user?

The reindeer began to poke and prod him, listening to his heart, flashing a light in front of his eyes, having him look this way and that, say "ahh", wiggle his toes and fingers, and general check-up stuff.

"Well, you're better than expected." The creature told him, measuring his blood pressure. "The knife thankfully missed your spine, and there doesn't seem to be any nerve or brain damage. You managed to avoid a concussion when you fell, which is good, and so far we've managed to stave off any infection. I doubt you want to hear about the damage done to your internal organs, but we already changed your bandages today so you don't have to worry about having to look at it yet either." The reindeer rambled on cheerfully, writing notes down on his clipboard, while the nurse poked her head into the room.

"Tony, Luffy's here." The reindeer looked over to the door and nodded, while the skypeian stood to the side to allow a new figure to literally bounce into the room. It was slender teen with olive skin and thick black hair underneath a navy cap, wearing the typical suit of marine officers, though the jacket was open and the tie hung around his neck in a knot. The coat of a justice hung from his shoulders, though Thatch wasn't quite sure what his rank was.

Tony placed the clipboard aside and stood to attention with a firm salute, but he was also completely relaxed. He even shrunk down to his little form and hurried to his superior's side, beaming up at the teen with big eyes.

"Luffy!"

"Hey, Chopper!" The boss grinned affectionately, while another man entered into the room, but the newcomer was dressed in the uniform of a chef, an apron hanging around his waist. He was blond and tall with ridiculously long legs, and his hair was combed to cover one of his eyes. Oddly enough for a cook, a cigarette dangled from his lips, and his attention was completely set on the pretty nurse, hearts in his eyes.

"Conis, my love!" The cook announced, spinning in a circle and producing a rose from somewhere in his shirt, presenting it to the nurse on one knee. Conis laughed uncomfortably, accepting the offered flower, if only to get the chef off the floor.

"Thank you, Sanji."

Rituals over and done with, the attention of the marines all turned to the pirate in the room. The officer came to his bedside, pulling along a chair which he set backwards and sat on, arms hanging over the back. He was just a kid, Thatch couldn't help but marvel, couldn't be older than seventeen. The marines were not usually picky about age, but it took years to build up status and ability from the rank of a regular soldier. For someone so young to already hold the position of an officer meant that he was something fierce. Maybe he had a particularly powerful ability?

The kid smiled at him, like a child admiring cool toys in a shop window, before introducing himself. "I'm Monkey D. Luffy, the base commander!"He boasted proudly, a grinning stretching wide and revealing teeth and gums. "That's Sanji over there, we gotta ask you a few questions." This brat was the base commander? What base was this? Was he still in the New World, or had he somehow gotten taken back to Paradise? Most base commanders were Vice-Admiral in ranking, and those of the New World were particularly brutal.

Thatch shifted slightly, searching the commander's face. The infirmary was hardly the place to perform an interrogation, but he was the only patient here. His treatment so far could have been intentioned to give him a false sense of security, soften him up for all manner of nasty tricks. Of course they wanted him for something, otherwise he'd be on his way to Impel Down by now.

He braced himself for the worst when the kid next opened his mouth, but was at a loss at how to respond.

"What?"

"I said, how'd you end up like this? What happened?" The child looked genuinely concerned for a moment, maybe not precisely for Thatch, but definitely for someone. He was probably mulling over the potential danger someone powerful enough to take down Whitebeard's fourth commander might pose to citizens or their own base, if it was indeed the closest to where Teach had betrayed Thatch.

It hardly seemed like a malicious question, but he couldn't afford to give them any information that could be used against the crew.

The cook must have noted his hardened expression, because he stepped forward. "Your situation is very odd, shithead. One of the immensely powerful men working underneath an Emperor, very nearly brutally murdered on a small island in the New World, and just left in the dirt to die? Unlikely." The blond released a stream of smoke in the air as he spoke, expression grave but eye piercing. He was a sharp one. "Your attacker must either be immensely skilled, powerful, or just lucky. But why assault one of Whitebeard's men but not finish the job properly? Their motive couldn't have been your death, or your bounty, since we picked you up there by sheer coincidence. Which means your near-murderer was after something else." Obviously this guy was way more than just a cook. The commander listened to his man with unfathomable eyes, and the doctor stared at the ground uncomfortably. Conis had already fled the room. "But you were stabbed in the back, a wound meant to get you out of the way and prevent a struggle, possibly kill you, but not quickly or efficiently. A classic traitor's move, correct? Such occasions aren't unusual among pirates, cutthroats most are, but I was under the impression that Whitebeard's lot worked differently."

Thatch gripped the sheets of the hospital bed, ignoring how the movement jostled the needles embedded in his skin and made the cuffs scrape against his wrists. He tried to feel the hole in his gut, through the pain killers, because it was the physical proof that the unthinkable had happened. The memory of the pain was still fresh, the horror of lying in his own blood, his brother-in-arm's laughter ringing in his ears.

"We do." He stated, and knowing that made the betrayal so much worse.

The cook stared him through, contention obvious in his look, clearly believing the contrary. Thatch let that insult against his captain and crew go, he had no need to prove the loyalty of their family to a bunch of marines. Not now, when everything had gone so wrong so suddenly.

The commander frowned pensively. "So Old Beard Man's got a traitor?" No one answered, but the child officer needed no further confirmation.

"HQ is gonna have a riot with this one." The cook sighed, but his commander, arms folded on the chair's back, clenched his fingers around his biceps.

"Who?" The kid asked, and there was some strange worry in his eyes that caught Thatch off-guard. But still he did not answer. Instead he decided to ask his own question.

"Why aren't I in Impel Down?"

The cook bristled, but Thatch could not tell if he was indignant, scornful, or just frustrated. "You'd be dead if you were. But not so worry, pirate shit, we'll have you delivered there soon enough." The commander said nothing to affirm or refute his subordinate's threat, merely standing up and nodding to the doctor before following the blond out the door, having attained no information, but they had already figured out enough to satisfy any superiors, Thatch supposed. He hadn't denied any of their claims, which he really should have, to mislead them at least. If their accusations had been false, he would have scoffed at the idea of a traitor among the crew, but the shock of betrayal was still raising the hair on his skin.

He turned to the reindeer, hoping for a distraction. "Got any food?"

The creature looked horrified. "No, absolutely not! You're stomach is in no state to digest anything, we're having to feed you through gastrojejunostomy and-"

"Oh god, I do not want to hear anymore do I?"

* * *

Sanji groaned as he followed Luffy down the hall, tossing away his finished smoke in an ashtray they passed, and lit a new one to calm the nerves. "This is a fine corner we've put ourselves in."

"It'll work out." His commander responded with a blank look, but his usual easy going smile was faded. He was taking the situation seriously, and that never boded well.

He tried not to growl, frustration bubbling in his gut. Luffy was hardly at fault here, but he couldn't help but wish he had someone to blame besides the shitty pirate living in luxury in their infirmary. Preferably someone he could beat the shit out of. "For who? Us, or them?" Luffy shot him a betrayed look, like a naughty child scolded by a supposed-to-be sympathetic nurse. The cook understood his commander's feelings well enough, but some things needed to be said. "Don't try to deny it, we can't keep playing both sides for much longer, Luffy. Bending the rules is one thing, and hiding  _her_  is another," Luffy met his gaze, unwavering, but frowned heavily, "but if this all blows up you'll be the chosen scapegoat." With a petulant huff, Lu shifted his eyes, unable to continue the stare down or even respond right away. Now he would at least get that Sanji wasn't out to yell at him or be annoyed, he was  _worried._

His commander bit his lip, a hand reaching up to grip the shoulder pad of his coat, as if it was a heavy load. But any worry quickly faded from his eyes, and the gloom was lost behind a bright smile of irrepressible optimism. "Stop worrying about it. We're gonna deliver pompadour man, safe and sound. Alive." The fool always had such faith in his subordinates abilities, and the words were almost  _touching,_  but equally nerve-wracking. Not only was there the constant anxiety of  _oh god, I'd die before I let him down_ , but the resolution seemed so horribly out of place with the looming threat of both a Warlord and HQ's wrath weighing down on them.

"Whitebeard's no fool. They'll find out we have him here, and they'll know they have to get him back before he arrives at Impel Down, probably before he leaves the New World. Meaning, every ship that comes and goes from here will be in danger. Getting him to the Red Line is going to be near impossible, now, and we'll be blamed for not sending him immediately, because  _we_ insisted on getting him treatment!" Luffy listened to his concerns gravely, pausing their trek over the bridge that connected to another portion of the base. Sanji was arguably the most compassionate of all his handpicked subordinates, but he was by no means ignorant to the consequences even kindness could bring.

The commander rolled his shoulders, still failing to grasp the tension of the conversation beyond the dampening knowledge that his friend was stressing. "Woah, woah,Sanji,  _relax_. Who knows, maybe beard face will be grateful to us. And, there' no guarantee they'll even find out he's here. We are pretty out of the way."

Sanji tutted, aggravated again, but decided that the rest of the argument could continue in Luffy's office, with the others present. He could hardly hope to get anything through his boss's thick skull without help. "So irresponsible...!"

"Or  _too_  responsible?" A smooth voice cut in, causing his heart to flutter. Her tone and melody was always a thick black coffee, vanquishing weariness and worries. A tall, slender woman approached them over the bridge, before doubling back alongside them as they resumed their journey.

"My lovely Robin~!" Sanji could not help but trill, very nearly spinning in a circle. He patted his jacket for concealed flowers to produce for the elegant lady, but disappointedly recalled he had not hidden enough today, and the last had gone deservingly to Conis.

"Yo, Robin." Luffy greeted, ignoring Sanji's flowerless predicament.

"You two just went to visit our guest, correct?"

"Yeah, call everyone together in my office."

* * *

A carrier gull turned in a circle in the open air, once, twice, before dropping a single bundle of paper into a waiting hand, catching a coin in its beak as payment. The recipient tutted at the rising price, but hey, it wasn't her money anyway. She unfolded the paper as she sat down at the little table set up on her balcony, placing it down to read while she had her morning coffee and the parfait Sanji had prepared for her.

But then the headline came as a surprise.

' **Whitebeard Commander Captured Under Suspicious Circumstances'.**

"Oh hell no!" Nami shrieked aloud, snatching up the article and scanning it apprehensively. "How did they find out? We ordered discretion, dammit!"

Then her eyes fell on the reporter's name.

Abusa.

The notorious intrepid reporter that somehow managed to stick his or her nose into everything that happened in the New World recently. Abusa was quickly becoming famous for managing to attain information on anything that went down, particularly the movements of the Worst Generation, but he or she only ever struck against pirates, for the most part. The newspaper was regulated by the government, after all, so how the hell did a classified event like the fourth division commander's capture be published?

But there was no time to investigate, she'd leave that for later.

Newspaper clutched in hand, Marine Captain Nami abandoned her breakfast and dashed for her commodore's office.

* * *

Unless they moved quickly, they were all going to die.

Luffy settled down on top of his desk, legs crossed, and pouted as Usopp brought over a stack of papers, all the crisp white of Navy official business. Robin relaxed on the couch against the wall, shifting through her own stack, brow furrowed. Sanji had gone to call Nami from her early morning tea time, something they all would no doubt get scolded for.

His secretary, who was actually the captain of his sniper division, groaned, "Honestly, Lu, I know I have a Masters Degree in the fine art of Organization and am coveted across the seas, but this is all a little much, even for me!" The papers met his desk with a foreboding  _thunk._  It was an awfully tall stack... "You should have just sent the pirate right off."

"We've gone over this a thousand times!" Luffy whined, picking up the first sheet, before letting it go with a wince when he considered the tiny font.

The door to the office opened, and in slipped a tall man with green hair and a harmaki, looking thunderous. "We've been over it a thousand times because this ain't a damn hospital!"

"Zoro!" Luffy grinned, pleased to see someone that could save him from the horrors of paperwork and his merciless secretary. The swordsman shoved aside the tower of printed doom so he could slam his hands on the desk, eyebrow twitching furiously.

"OI! Do you realize how many hours that took?" Usopp shrieked and bemoaned the scattered paperwork, but went ignored as a staring contest commenced between the pirate hunter and the base commander.

"But it's my base!"

"Won't be for much longer when this all goes to shit!"

"You guys are all too wound up. Maybe you're all hungry?"

"Not everything's about food, you imbecile!" Zoro abdomished, but then sighed. Getting through the vice-admiral's skull was a hopeless cause. He was just too air-headed and stubborn, a deadly combination for maximum anxiety. But at least there was still an easy solution. "Just let me kill him!"

The secretary screamed at the suggestion, "Hey, hey, hey! That'll keep us out of trouble with the higher-ups, but Whitebeard would kill us all!" Usopp nearly dropped the papers he had collected during the argument he was shaking so hard at the mere thought of a vengeful Emperor knocking on their gates.

But he  _did_  drop them when the doors suddenly slammed open with a bloodcurdling scream.

"We have a problem!" Nami was panting and flushed, a fawning Sanji right behind her with hearts in his eyes.

"What's up, Nami?" Luffy asked, chin in hand, not at all bothered by the varying states of panic between his head cartographer and sniper, the fuming bounty hunter, and the cooing cook.

"This!" The red-head thrust up the paper in her hand, pointing to the bolded headline. Robin was immediately in front of her, scanning the article with a critical eye, while Sanji turned somber.

"What about it?" The vice-admiral turned to his archaeologist, who in his eyes knew everything, "Robin?"

The dark-haired woman crossed her arms worriedly. "There seems to have been a leak."

"So?"

"Whitebeard's forces will now no doubt know that Thatch is within custody. Considering whether they know his recent movements or not, they may be able to determine that he was taken to this base specifically. The article also mentions his delayed transfer to Enies Lobby or Impel Down, so..." She trailed off ominously.

"They'll come to rescue him." Zoro finished, leaning against the desk, and Usopp shrunk into a corner in terror.

"Indeed. This will not only bring unwanted scrutiny on our base, but also put us all in danger. Even if we survive an assault by an Emperor, due to the circumstances of the delay, all fault will fall on us. Headquarters could even launch a full investigation into our operations here, since Luffy's insistence on the survival of this pirate already seems suspicious."

"Hey, hey, an inspection like that could be really, really bad!" Usopp muttered, a bead of sweat already tracing its way down his brow. Robin in particular shifted uncomfortably, and Zoro frowned, worry wrinkling his forehead as he gripped the handle of one of his swords, but he spoke out, resolute and steady.

"We can fret over technical stuff like that later, for now we need to start preparations for a siege or infiltration. There's no guarantee that anything will happen, but for the next few weeks, until that bastard is okay for transfer and we deliver him safely, we need to be on our guard."

The gathered group nodded, despite their frayed nerves and doubtful expectations for the month that awaited them, and began to shuffle about, picking up the remaining papers just to stay occupied.

"Robin, can you tell the others to come in?" Nami asked, pushing a stack into Usopp's waiting arms, and the other woman nodded, eyes closing as she concentrated on her powers. It was always easiest to strategize when they were all together, to bounce ideas off each other and balance out the wackier members with the rational thinkers. Crazy ideas could be considered and made plausible that way, a technique that had been essential in their rise through the Navy's ranks over the years of their service. But private means of calling their other friends into the office were best, as panic was the last thing they needed erupting in the base at the moment. She was already aware of the magazine article that told of Thatch's capture, but with the most recent leak the scouts would stop harassing the ships on the edges of their territory and turn their eyes on the base itself. Their own men had no doubt also gotten word of the newspaper already, and rumors and speculations were probably spreading. They had to get a handle on the situation and begin giving orders and organizing troops before chaos began to take hold.

The weeks ahead looked stressful.

* * *

Thatch was still recovering from the mental trauma of learning how nutrients were getting into his system and exactly what kind of strange tubes were sticking out of his skin underneath the blankets, and struggling with the indignity of how a nurse was going to have to help him pee and all sorts of other unmentionables that he really didn't ever want to even consider let alone experience when a hand popped out of the wall. Not just a hand, but a hand armed with an  _eye_  and  _mouth_ in its palm.

He thought he had really gone mad for a moment, and honestly, being crazy would explain the mysterious transforming reindeer doctor, the random skypeian lady with some kind of freaky fox thing, and how he could have sworn a skeleton wandered by the window at some point. Maybe the meds he was on were causing some serious hallucinations, or he  _had_  given himself a head injury when he fell, but there was a tan hand reaching for the tiny doctor, a wide blue eye set on his antlers, with pursed lips, of all things.

"Chopper." The mouth-hand-eye monstrosity spoke in the voice of an elegant woman, and damn, she sounded hot for, well, a mouth-hand-eye monstrosity. The reindeer turned away from the clipboard he was examining and smiled when he noticed the sexy-sounding nightmare protruding from the wall.

"Robin! What's up?" The reindeer greeted, even though the hand thing was obviously not a bird, but hey, he was just a hallucination too, right?

"Luffy wishes to see everyone in his office." The not-lady said, and Thatch was pretty sure Luffy was the name of the base commander, unless the marine child was just a figment of his imagination as well...

"Okay!" His doctor chirped, and the freaky thing vanished in a flurry of flower petals that dissolved in the air. The little creature began to shed his equipment and fitted a hand remote with a single red button in Thatch's palm. "Press this and a nurse will come right over if you need anything. Don't be shy about it, they're all glad to help. If you get bored, they can bring you some books or if you're cold-" Figuring the tiny furball would go on and on if he let him continue, Thatch summoned an assuring smile and motioned him out. "Thank you, I'll do that." He pressed the button as soon as the doctor was out and down the hall, an assumption based on the odd squeaking he made when he walked, and just a minute later Conis poked her head in.

"Something wrong,, Mister?" She asked, and he shook his head.

"Nah, just wondering if I can get something to read? Maybe a newspaper or something?"

The skypeian smiled and nodded, "Sure. Any magazines?" He nodded. Through a newspaper and the New World's gossip rags, he could probably gain a fair understanding of what was going on at sea. She grinned and hurried out.

True enough, she returned some ten minutes later with both a newspaper and a few magazines, some on ships, resort islands, celebrities, and shockingly the most recent issue of the New World's paparazzi fueled  _Pirates' Monthly._  Now that was a lucky break, and also a roundabout way of finding out his location, because  _Pirates' Monthly_  was put out by Pirate Island and impossible to come by outside the Grand Line, and it was hard to obtain recent issues in Paradise. He had no idea how the Navy had managed to obtain such a recent issue, as Pirate Island was always so careful who they sold to, or how such a valuable thing ended up in his hands, but there was no way he could miss this opportunity.

He thanked her warmly, hoping his surprise didn't show on his face, and picked up the resort one with a glossy picture of Dressrosa on the cover, innocent enough. He pretended to find an article on beaches to his liking. After fixing a few cabinets and doing some weird nurse things with the machines attached to his IVs, she eventually slipped out the door.

He immediately tossed aside the resort mag and snatched up the newspaper. It was dated four days after he had last been awake and aware, leaving him to assume he'd been comatose for about half a week.

More baffling was the headline, which he could only assume Conis had not actually glanced at. Nursing was busy profession, after all.

But this was good, now Pops and his brothers would at least know he was alive, but whether they would reach the correct conclusion about the situation was dubious. If they did not realize Teach had turned traitor, or worse, the bastard had actually returned to the Moby Dick with a contrived tale... well, that thought process made Thatch's mutilated stomach turn painfully.

The article vaguely mentioned that he was arrested and being held captive in a marine base, but specifically mentioned that he was found with a near fatal knife wound to the back and the exact location where he was found. The rest of the article was questions and hypothetical ramble.

Yet, why would the Navy allow this to be published? It blatantly told the whole world he was not yet transferred to Impel Down, providing his crew with a window of opportunity to rescue him, as well as some information on his current location could possibly be.

Why? Was he bait? The Navy would never allow such an article to be published unless they had a hidden motive. But if they were trying to draw Whitebeard out, why was he in a mere Naval Base? Since the issue of PM was this month's, he was still in the New World, meaning they were literally surrounded by pirates. The base was probably already constantly in a rush to keep its head above water, there was no way such a place could be able to survive an assault by his Pops.

The whole situation just did not add up.

It seemed the guys back at Pirate Island had received similar information, but also had some more shady details, but lacked the official ones that could only have been obtained from the Marines themselves that the newspaper had. Their reporters had spoken to some inhabitants of the island he had last been on and been fed varying tales, some outrageous,  _because Thatch was pretty sure he did not get in a fight with narwhal,_  while others told of a lumbering man with bad teeth and a bandanna, and a Devil Fruit. If his brothers read the article, they might be able to piece the true story together, though before a knife stabbed him through Thatch couldn't say he'd ever even imagine one of their own turning, so Teach's betrayal may not even cross their minds as a possibility.

To distract himself from fretting over something he couldn't do anything about as of right now, practically mortally wounded and all, he continued on to read the information on his crew that the PM Editors had included. A whole page was dedicated to each division and their commander, because people outside of their crew tended to get them confused, and while he immediately skipped ahead to read his own, vanity said he had to, he didn't see Ace or Marco included. After skimming the article, which disappointedly mentioned that he was defeated and caught more times than probably necessary, he flicked back and looked again. Between Pop's page and the Third Division's, an entire leaf had been painstakingly torn out.

"Huh." Why would the navy want a page of a gossip rag about the First and Second Divisions? Maybe one of the nurses was a fan of Ace's? He had quite a few, running around dressed like a stripper all the time, but that was kind of scandalous in a Marine Base.

"Something wrong?" Conis asked, coming back into the infirmary. She was carrying some books in her arms, and what looked to be a few tone dials. Gotta love skypeian technology. She glanced at the open magazine, and smiled a little, before setting down her load on the nightstand next to his bed and turning the page. "This is you?" she pointed at a candid shot of him in action, before reading the blurbs of information scattered around it.

"Yep, and not a bad shot." He grinned proudly, but she chuckled.

"Does your hair usually look like that?" She motioned towards his scalp, where long locks of orange hair hung limply instead of his typical pompadour style.

"Yeah, got any hair gel?" He joked, before showing her the rest of the page.

"It says you fight with two swords."

"Mmm, don't know what happened to 'em, though."

"Confiscated, most likely."

He sighed, he loved both those blades. "Pity. Whatcha got there?" He asked about the books and dials, and she lifted them up one by one, showing him each individually.

"I figured you'd get bored with just magazines pretty quickly, and you're going to be stuck here for a while. I don't know if pirates like to read, but uh, everyone likes music, right?" Her compassion towards him was impressive, considering his situation. He never thought someone working for the Navy would ever care about a pirate being bored, of all things.

He made sure to give her the biggest smile he could muster, gratitude easing the knot of worry in his gut. "Thanks."

He hoped in the back of his mind that she wasn't the one ogling Ace's bare chest while they went through the dials together, the familiar melody of  _Bink's Sake_  filling the room.

* * *


	2. Put a Little Makeup

Usopp groaned as he collected papers off his superior's desk, cringing at the half-filled out forms and atrocious handwriting, the undotted i's, the awkward shifts in the size of each word's font, and the misspelling of various military terms. Tonight was going to be another long shift of erasing and rewriting everything Luffy had put down in his messy scrawl, completing forms, and forging the base commander's signature.

Not exactly what he enlisted for, considering he was a Navy captain with his own division to be leading. Especially since he enlisted to hunt pirates, and hopefully put the irresponsible villain he once called his father into the darkest cell Impel Down could provide.

Honestly, sometimes he swore Luffy would never have been promoted beyond lieutenant if not for his hard work and dutiful handling of the entire base's paperwork. Actually, Luffy would probably have been dishonorably discharged years ago, considering the odor that was wafting out from behind the desk.

The secretary set aside the papers he'd collected and apprehensively approached the drawers of the desk. What was it this time? A rotting leg of turkey, writhing with terrible, wriggly, disgustingly white maggots? A moldy sandwich, bread turned blue and black and fuzzy, with wilted spinach and bad horseradish?

Yuck, past experiences were so terrifying that Usopp was almost about to just run away and leave someone brave to clean up the boss's mess. Preferably someone armed and dangerous without workman's compensation, like Zoro, 'cause who knew what might pop out of there?

He tentatively gripped the drawer's handle and slowly pulled it open, one hand blocking his nose and his eyes carefully squished shut.

But the odor did not worsen, so he released his nostrils and opened his eyes, peering in. No bad food to be found in the first drawer, just a torn-out page of a magazine. He picked it up, noticing it was an article about the second division commander of the Whitebeard pirates.

"Whatcha doing, Usopp?" Luffy poked his head in, returning from the galley where he had been trying to convince Sanji to throw together a snack for him. No such luck there, his irate head chef had thrown him out and yelled at him, obviously still wound up about the whole 'imminent pirate attack' thing.

Usopp tutted and showed the article to his boss. "Cleaning out your desk, dimwit. What's this for? We going after the rest of Whitebeard's commanders now too?" After the words left his mouth, Usopp suddenly shut his jaw with a click. Oh god, he hadn't meant to give his commander any ideas, but knowing Lu-

"Nah, it must have fallen out of that magazine X Drake brought me." Luffy was staring out the window, monitoring the ships that drifted through the bay, and Usopp couldn't quite see his eyes, but sighed in relief. Whew.

He put the article back in the drawer, because Luffy was an awful liar and always had his reasons, "Where'd the magazine go?"

Luffy turned at him and blinked, suddenly remembering something. "Ah! I accidently took it to the infirmary with me! Opps...should I go get it?" He chuckled carelessly, but Usopp shook his head as he moved on to the next drawer of the desk. There was no real use for the magazine right now, and it was probable that one of the nurses or janitors had already discarded it, considering where the base commander tended to leave things.

Oh, gross. What the hell  _even is_  that?

"Oh hey, my lunch from last week!"

God, what did Usopp ever do to deserve this?

Puru puru.

Oh, thank the sociopathic lightning god above for transponder snails. Abandoning the atrocity of existence, Usopp escaped the horrible stench of Luffy's office and answered the ringing snail on his own desk just on the other side of the door.

Luffy casually swept up the mess, slid open the window, and cast it out to rain down on any unsuspecting sailors below. He chuckled when a high pitched shriek came echoing back up along with yelps of dismay and horror.

Usopp glared at him through the open door, half-laughing despite himself, and cleared his throat before calling to his superior. "Luffy, they need you at the Command Center."

"Eh? Why?"

"Maybe because you're the  _base commander?_  And it's your  _job_  to  _command?_ "

"Bleh. Fiiiinnne."

* * *

He was a good soldier. He wore his coat with pride; he comforted orphans as he pulled them out the rubble that was now their parents' graves, he trained with a rifle for three years, a rapier for six. He carried the picture of his sweetheart back in the village in his pocket, carefully laminated, along with a promise to her that someday she would live at Marineford.

He had made a few mistakes, steroids a while back, some hallucinogens a long time ago, that time he ran from a man with blood red hair and scars across his face like a coward, shame-faced a she left brothers behind.

He was a good soldier; he went back and buried the bodies after prying them free from the crucifixes.

A lick of flame flowed along the pale arm, a fist lifting him from the ground by the front of his shirt. He could count the freckles, but there was an unpleasant heat toasting his nose and cheekbones.

"Come on, don't be like that," The pirate smiled charmingly, with dimples and his freckles and everything; he had no right to be able to grin like that. "Just tell me where Thatch is and I won't burn off your legs!"

The marine captain considered tearing off his shirt to escape the scorching warmth and whimpered, eying the flames that licked upwards from the pirate's forearm. His sword was imbedded in the ship's planks yards away, hopelessly out of reach. His rifle was hanging uselessly in his grip, armed with nothing but balls of lead that melted in the flames.

He didn't want to be a cripple. The woman in the photo, she was pretty, red hair like the fire and eyes that were as disturbingly green as the pirate's, and she'd never live at HQ if he had no legs.

But, a pirate is a pirate, and they lie.

"Die, pirate scum." He liked to think that it sounded brave, but his voice was dying in his throat.

The man quirked an eyebrow and he could only really see it past the cowboy hat because the bastard had him by the collar. Fuck, the world was shaking, or maybe he was just trembling so badly his eyeballs were rattling.

The flames grew and danced towards him, licking up his dark tie and then, he was burning. Thrashing, screaming, and everything was too painfully, terribly, excrutiatingly hot. And still the pirate kept him suspended in the air, watching his shirt burn and blacken his skin. Some tiny, aware part of him was grateful the monster wasn't smiling anymore.

"Where. Is. He?" Firefist hissed, and his swamp eyes burned like lit copper sulfate. The marine patted and clawed at himself madly, only just extinguishing the flames and comprehending the black, red oozing burns on his arms when the pirate lived up to his epithet.

She would never marry his now. He was a good soldier,  _was._

The flaming hand was going to wrap around his throat, and he'd die. He was burning and sobbing in pain, and he was going to die.

He didn't want to die, no, he was supposed to marry that fiery, emerald eyed girl and support his parents and save people. He wasn't meant to die.

He wasn't meant to know either. But he—he overheard the vice-admiral on the transponder snail, reporting in to a base he'd never been to, where there were other men with things they were planning to do, other men with promises to keep.

He was a good soldier; he was a life-saver.

But today, that life would have to be his own.

"G—" A sword came through his gut, and the whole world went black.

"Vista," Ace groaned into his hand, dropping a limp marine officer to the deck. "He was about to tell me!"

The swords man blinked, pulling his sword from the collapsed corpse's gut. "Really? Fuck." He hadn't meant to kill the poor bastard, but floorboards of this ship were strangely slippery under his shoes. Just one little stumble and he had lost his grip on his sword for just a moment, awkwardly impaling a foe right through. "Whose ship is this anyway?"

The past few days had been hectic, and Vista could barely remember where he was and how he got there. One minute, just a week ago, they were all eagerly awaiting the return of a crewmate that had been gone too long, and next thing he knew every printed media in the world was reporting the capture of Thatch. Now the commanders of the Whitebeard pirates were scattered across the seas in pairs—they couldn't afford to be careless and solo now, Thatch was fourth division head and no pushover, but he'd been defeated while he was alone—tearing any marine patrols they could find to shreds.

"Just some guy I met a while back. He said he found some Marines for us to interrogate. But now you've gone and slaughtered 'em all."

"You haven't been holding back either." Vista pointed to the charred remnants of ships now reduced to driftwood in the water. They were both a little wound up, he supposed, worrying about the wellbeing of their friend and comrade.

Ace shrugged carelessly, surveying the deck for any living foes. The native pirate crew was all huddled by the cabin, their clown captain floating about with a face of false bravado. There were tens of bodies scattered around, silent and unmoving in their stained and singed uniforms. His own division's ship was just cruising through the calming battle field, men hopping aboard and returning victorious, as well as mostly unharmed. Their opponents had not been so fortunate, floating in the water like swollen, painted dolls, but the air still tasted bitter.

They had learned nothing.

So damn close, but so damn far. Thatch could be dying in a cell, being boarded onto a ship in chains, or already awaiting judgment at the Judicial Island, and they knew nothing about it.

"Oi! Commander!" A voice called over the water to them, addressing who they did not know, so they both just turned to see Vista's ship pulling up on their starboard side.

"What's up?" Vista said, cheerfully sheathing his blades and approaching his division member, who pointed to a snail excitedly.

"We've got news!" He announced, handing over the communicator with a grin. "Commander Marco has ordered all divisions back to the Moby Dick!"

"Already?" Ace wondered, but a smile pulled at his lips. Any news was good news at this point. Pity he himself almost got something out of that last marine, but to hear that someone else had better luck than they did was heartening.

"Yeah, the newspaper revealed that he hasn't been transferred yet! Those damn marines are keeping him in a base!" The crews were now chattering excitedly, his own division having also joined the line of pirate vessels.

Vista laughed in relief, obviously about to say something jovial, but Ace cut him off.

"What about Teach? Did it say anything about Teach?"

Pirates across all three decks quieted, and most smiles faded.

"No," The fifth division member admitted reluctantly, "at least, not that I know of."

Ace slumped, guilt twisting in his gut and frustration brewing behind his eyes. Damn. Some commander he was; he couldn't even keep track of one of his own men. It should have been him that had gone, but Thatch had instead, and now look at what had happened. Teach could be dead, killed and unrecognized by the marines, or captured alongside the auburn haired fourth commander.

Just what had ambushed those two?

"Well," Vista tried to fill the awkward silence and turn his friend's mind away from his fault, "we should probably get back to Pops."

* * *

Even injured, Thatch had killer instincts, so when someone approached his bed in the dark, he  _knew,_ despite his sleepy, exhausted state. He's awesome like that.

And well, Observational Haki helped too.

He grabbed the thin hand that had been reaching towards him, barely noticing how cool and hard it felt in his grip. He expected to see a knife when he hit the switch to the lights, Conis had given him another remote, and a Marine assassin sent to insure that Whitebeard's fourth division commander died tragically from his wounds.

What he did see was something out of a nightmare. Only years of experience pillaging, thieving, and slaughtering—because pirating was a grisly business no matter who your captain was—kept him from screaming bloody murder. Only the chains around his wrists kept him on the bed and from tearing his stomach open by scrambling away.

His fingers were wrapped around bone. Just chiffon phalanges, connected to metacarpals without any muscle or tissue, just fitted together like grisly puzzle pieces, leading into a torn, stained, weathered suit sleeve. The fleshless arm he gripped connected to a torso clothed in an old coat that just hung on to the fragile frame, the undershirt so torn he could see ivory ribs curving around.

Eyeless sockets stared at him, black and empty, and the revealed teeth trapped in the jawbones, completely gumless, clicked as the mouth creaked open.

"Ah, I apologize, did I wake you?"

"Oh my god. Talking skeleton. I'm high. I'm so high."

"On what? It must have been difficult to smuggle it into the infirmary, but ah, you are a pirate after all. May you release my hand, please?"

Thatch couldn't release the appendage fast enough.

"I'm so sorry for disturbing you. I just came to pick something up." The skeleton, the talking, walking skeleton, reached over to the nightstand and selected an old dial from the stack of shells that Conis had left when he started dozing off. He reached for the crack in his skull, pushing back the freaking afro, by god, an afro skeleton, groovy, and  _opened his head._

Thatch flinched, but the skeleton didn't seem to notice as he plopped the dial in and shut the crack as if that was where it belonged.

By god, Conis, his nurse, had touched that thing. Ew.

"The nurses here are all lovely, but tend to be a bit to commandeering. This dial is very important to me, you see, it would be awful if I lost it."

"Keep it," Thatch tried to suggest as evenly as he could, but his voice still squeaked.

"I am 'Dead Bones' Brook. Are you Sir Thatch, the pirate?" An epithet? A skeleton with an epithet?

These hallucinations just got more bizarre. Or maybe he was dreaming.

Ah, yeah, definitely dreaming. "Uh, yep. That's me. Probably the only pirate on the base, right?"

The skeleton chuckled pleasantly. His voice was rich and light, musical, and his entire being had such a surreal feel. Thatch relaxed and let himself be caught along in the dream, figuring that this was the best therapy he was going to get.

"I wouldn't say that. I'm a pirate myself, or rather used to be. Haven't managed much pirating in recent years."

"Being dead does that to a career, huh?"

This time the skeleton laughed heartily, long white fingers tracing a violin that he placed in his lap as he sat down in the chair Conis had left alongside the hospital bed.

"You could certainly say so. If I'm not mistaken, you're not in such a different situation."

"Ah, I'm far from dead. Just a bit chained down and cut up, that's all."

"Really? How did that happen?"

Such a strange dream his mind had concocted. Maybe his subconscious was trying to help him sort through everything that had happened. Talking about it was better than dwelling on the knife that had cut him open and the laughter of strangers that had echoed in his ears as he bled out. If he told the whole story aloud, maybe he would stumble across a thought that hadn't occurred to him already. Maybe he had missed something important about Teach's actions, or his capture. He had been given a puzzle with half its pieces, and maybe this dream could help him locate the rest.

Alright, story time.

* * *

They arrived back at the Moby Dick by noon, and were greeted excitedly by their comrades. Ace's mood had lightened during their sail and cheerfully reported in to Pops, and soon enough all sixteen division commanders were gathered around their captain, awaiting the news they were all pulled back for.

Marco took the lead, "Alright, listen up." They all perked to attention, except for Haruta who was harassing Jozu over something or another. The youngling had to be shut up with an exasperated glare. "This morning the newspaper published an article that states Thatch is being detained in one of the Marine strongholds, not heading to Impel Down because he is apparently wounded." They all knew what that meant. Whoever had taken Thatch down was bad news, because if he was tricked, trapped, or found drunk in a corner somewhere, he would be in fine condition. He had been taken by force. Even their captain frowned pensively into his drink.

"What's worrying," Marco continued, holding up the article in question, "is that the article got published in the first place."

"It's a trap." Vista muttered, and the blond nodded gravely.

"Those marines want to start a fight with us, eh?" The laugh was booming as it filled the deck, their towering captain setting aside his drink just for a moment. He did not rise from his seat, he did not need to, but his eyes were ablaze with fury in a way that none of them had seen for years. "If they want war, they have it!" Though he spoke smoothly, with vindication and resolution, not even raising his voice, his words still thundered through the ship. The seas themselves seemed to tremble against the bow. "However, not while one of my sons is at risk."

"The Navy probably expects us to go stampeding into this trap, but Thatch's position makes that not an option. They could kill him if we attack all-out." Marco explained, and they hissed at the thought.

"Then what are we going to do?"

"We're going to take Thatch back from right under their noses."

Haruta snarled like and animal, obviously not liking where the conversation was heading. "Woah! Hold on a second. We'e pirates! We don't do sneaky infiltration! That's for cowardly Cipher Pol agents!" Generally, they did avoid doing anything in a sneaky manner. They were a crew of the strongest man alive, it would be ridiculous if they were timid. Normally they were bold and brazen, taking on the Navy and other Emperors head on.

But this situation was a difficult one.

"We have to, Haruta."

"But we don't even know what base to target!"

"And what about Teach?" Ace added, bringing up something the rest of them had forgotten momentarily. There had still been no word or sign of their remaining missing comrade.

"If he's anywhere, he's probably in the same base as Thatch," Marco placated, trying to prevent an eruption before the volcano boiled over. Ace was obviously agitated over his subordinate, but the phoenix knew better than to worry too much about Teach. That man may not be a commander, but he was without a doubt powerful. "We just need to figure out where exactly that is."

Izo hummed, her painted lips turning upwards in a smirk, as Ace backed down with a scowl. "Actually, it's a pretty simple game of elimination. What base was Teach closest to when Thatch went to pick him up?"

"G-5, I think." Vista piped up, recalling the week previous.

Immediately the second youngest was rearing to go. "Alright, so let's—"

Ace interrupted once again, eyes calculating, "No. If he was there, he'd be dead. What's the next one over?" G-5 was infamous for their brutality, some said the marines there were practically pirates themselves, even if the base commander was said to be honorable.

"G-9."

Jiru hummed, tossing out the only thing he knew of that particular base. It was pretty out of the way after all, the only island the marines could maintain a hold on in the area, mostly because nobody else wanted it. "That's by the Blistering Strip, right?"

"Yeah, because nobody ever approaches the base from there, they only have to defend one side."

"We'll use that to our advantage, yoi." Marco said, and everyone quirked an eyebrow.

"Huh? How?"

"It's usually too hot beyond G-9 for anyone to be able to circle around the base to attack from behind, right? Well, for two of us, the heat isn't going to be a problem. We'll get in where their defenses are weakest." They all turned to glance at the second division commander as Marco spoke, who smirked with flame rising off his bare shoulders.

"Just you and Ace going in, then?" Izo summarized, but a rumbling rejected the notion instantly.

"No." The captain said resolutely, and Marco opened his mouth to protest, but resigned with a sigh before even bothering. One of their brothers was already in danger, if either he or Ace slipped up on the mission, two more of Whitebeard's sons could be lost.

With no other choice, he adjusted the plan accordingly. "We should still keep the group small, then. Haruta, Jiru may be faster but he'll be staying here in case war does break out, and your speed would probably be handy to have. Vista… you might be too big and noticeable, but this situation could get hairy very quickly, so you and Izo, let's say?" Jozu would never get in undetected, so Vista was the strongest available after him and Ace. Haruta was not only fast, but small, and would be best for an infiltration like this. Unfortunately, the phoenix, Vista, and Haruta were all close combat fighters, so taking Curiel would probably be the best way to balance them out, but the fire-arms expert was too huge. Izo would have to do with her pistols.

"But how will we get in? No way am I going into the Blistering Strip!" Haruta muttered, obviously considering the possible death by dehydration waiting in one of the hottest spans of ocean in the world.

"Ace and I will go in first, you guys will need to get on a small craft and lay low a little way from the base. We'll find a weak point in surveillance and signal you in." He elaborated, trying to think of a way to keep them out of sight while he and Ace found a hidden entrance or just a good place to climb the wall. It would be best to begin the mission at night then, so the darkness would keep the four-people craft hidden. "Naturally, this is just a brief sketch. We need to get a map of the island or something so we can flesh things out, but the rest of you will be staying here. The Navy could have planned this too, and are trying to get some of us out of the way, so be on you guard."

* * *

Brook had gotten used to walking through the halls unseen. He had at first felt like a trespasser in this base, manned as if was by the Navy with rifles and seagull crests painted on the walls to remind him exactly where he was if he ever tried to forget. Nowadays, months after their arrival here, it felt a bit like home. The base was never quiet, always a bustle of activity and combat against the constant waves of pirates that inhabited the New World, and his personal friends among the soldiers were a lively, bright bunch.

Of course, if anyone saw him besides the select few he was familiar with, that would be a problem. But Brook had long ago mastered quiet steps and thin presence, and was ingrained with the habit of ducking behind corners and slipping away from passerbys. He no longer needed to think about dodging wandering marines or janitors, though there were days when he delighted in singing or playing an instrument as he went through the base, tunes that sounded eerie when they echoed in the bases steel, bare halls. Stories about him had spread around in the enlisted men, tales of a tall skeletal ghost haunting their corridors, accompanied by a lonely tune. New recruits and trainees delighted in tests of courage, testing their nerve by journeying out to confront the undead that terrorized them at night.

His sun found it hilarious, and in turn, so did Brook. Maybe if Luffy wasn't always laughing by his side, the reaction would be dampening and pierce his nonexistent heart, but the little vice-admiral was there chuckling through thick and thin.

Just as he was now coming around the corner, smiling widely when he noticed the skeleton.

"Brook!" He called, hurrying over, thankfully unaccompanied.

"Ah, Sir Luffy. I thought you were busy at the Control Tower, things are quite hectic up there, you know." Luffy's smile did not ever flicker, just widened.

"Yup, I'm heading there now."

"Ah, then it is good I caught you! I just finished speaking with Mr. Thatch." The smile did fall then, but just out of interest, as the eyes were still bright with intrigue. Always so impossibly bright.

"Really? What did he say?"

Ah, how does one say…?

It took a moment for him to find the words. "It would seem that the traitor in Whitebeard's crew is Blackbeard."

Luffy blinked.

"So there is no traitor?"

"Ah, no, Sir Luffy. Blackbeard was the one who assaulted Mr. Thatch. He is the traitor."

"Eh, wait, Blackbeard is part of Whitebeard's crew? No way!" Brook was well informed of his friends' history with the now infamous pirate. The story of the ragtag, hand-selected little squad of marines he encountered months ago in the Florian Triangle seemed endlessly intertwined with the journey of the pirates bearing a triple skulled Jolly Roger. He himself had once stood against the Blackbeard Pirates, and had felt Luffy's ferocity taint the air as the two met in battle. If he had skin to crawl, it would be at the memory.

"It would seem his real name is Marshall D. Teach, though the Emperor is unaware of the epithet."

Luffy froze before him, his eyes gradually widening with some great, horrific realization that Brook knew nothing of. The skeleton took a step back, moving so the shocked face was hidden and he could only see the great word of justice emblazoned on Luffy's back. It was difficult seeing Luffy not smiling, sometimes. He tried to avoid it.

"Sir Luffy?"

"H—he's Teach?" His friend's voice was oddly breathless, and he shifted uneasily.

"Y—yes? Is there something wrong?"

" _I'm looking for a guy named Teach. Ya seen him?"_

" _Nope."_

" _Really? Damn, I just can't seem to find anyone that has."_

" _Is he your friend?"_

" _Yeah, a guy in my division. I've been searching for him all over. What are you doin' here in Alabasta anyway?"_

" _Chasing a pirate. Name's Blackbeard."_

" _Blackbeard? Somebody trying to steal my old man's name?"_

" _Dunno." Pause, they stared out over the water together, warmth bubbling in their chests. "You like him."_

" _Who?"_

" _Your new captain. You like him a lot."_

_A laugh, easy and soft. He used to laugh rambunctiously, but that was many years ago._

" _I do. I really, really do. The whole crew is family now."_

" _Family, huh?" He never would have said such a thing back then either._

" _You should ditch the Navy and come back with me. You'd love 'em."_

" _Nah, I'm cool. This job is way too awesome to pass up! Shishishi~!"_

" _You're just chasing an unknown pirate! How's that exciting?"_

" _Oh, you'll never believe this—"_

"No." Luffy said, continuing down the hall. "I have to get to the CC, but after I'm going to visit Franky at the docks. See you there?"

Brook fiddled with the violin he carried, wondering, but nodded. "Ah, certainly." Even after all this time, his sun still caught him by surprise.

Luffy turned and grinned at him, obviously a bit off kilter with the news, but he was still the light of day and would endlessly shine on. "And good work with pompadour-man!"

If Brook had lips, he would smile, but instead he hummed a jolly tune and turned to head for the bridge that would lead him back to the main portion of the base, away from the CC.

* * *

Rear-admiral X Drake casually cut a cannon ball in half, a mini transponder snail in hand, and then switched weapons to send a whole row of pirates flying overboard with his axe. The pirates harassing their patrol were a large crew, one of Whitebeard's many upstart allies, eager to prove themselves to the Emperor by lending a hand in the rescue of the missing commander.

"Oi, Dino. What's going on on your end?" A familiar voice called out to him through the snail. He jumped up and rested on top of the cabin of his vessel, leaving his crew to momentarily manage the invaders that had boarded their ship.

"The pirates have become more aggressive, and seem to be focusing less on searching our ships. Before they were trying to distract us from afar and infiltrate to search our holding cells, now they seem to be just trying to push through." The pirates currently scampering across his deck were now the distraction, so their fellows on separate ships could slip on by and head for the base. A few were even demanding to know the location of Whitebeard's fourth division commander while they grappled with his men, who all remained stubbornly silent.

Ah, but that was the oddest thing. Here were the scum of the sea, lawless cutthroats and vicious, merciless criminals that could decapitate children and force themselves on women, fighting for the sake of a single, distant comrade, fueled by loyalty and pride. Here were brave men putting their lives on the line to save the whole world from chaos, just, dedicated Marines who would never sacrifice so much for a single life.

A captured Marine either had to escape on his own, or died. A captured pirate of a certain crew could watch his  _friends_  fight for him.

It was astounding, how varied pirates could be, compared to the singularity of the marines. In the Navy it was justice or corruption, yet a pirate's values could range from despicable to honorable.

X Drake was ever curious.

"Yeah, there was a leak. They know he's in a base now, and that he's not gonna be transferred for a while yet."

"A leak?"

"Somehow, a newspaper article was published. We're looking into it, but for now fall back and form a perimeter around the base. Considering the size of their forces, Sanji says they won't go for an all out attack. But make sure the men keep their mouths shut."

There wasn't a sailor in their forces unaware of Thatch's location. Just one man's slip up could bring an Emperor knocking on their front gates. X Drake hung up the snail, barely containing a snort, and drew his sword.

He leapt from atop the cabin, purposely landing on a pirate's shoulders and sending him toppling into the deck. He easily stepped off, casually swiping off the fallen's head with his blade, while bringing his axe down on the skull of an opponent that did not raise his own weapon fast enough to parry. Someone to the side bellowed in rage, and he rolled out of the way of a shot bullet, coming up to the side of the shooter. He easily cut the man's unprotected side open, noticing the reflection of another creeping up behind him in the shine of his sword. Completely disinterested in a foe that did not even face him head on, he spun on his heel and slammed his axe into the pirate's pelvis like a mace, the shattering of bones drowning out all other noise for a brief moment.

Only a mere five of the enemy remained, but there was a ship attempting to slip by on their flank, its cannons still firing. Drake sprang forward and dispatched of two at once, using his axe to bat aside both of their swords and slashing them both across the chest with his blade in a single smooth motion. His subordinates, had the others surrounded, so he set his sights on the pirates' ship, measuring the distance between them.

With decent altitude, he could make the leap.

He once again hopped atop the cabin, backed up just enough to give himself the proper momentum, and sheathed his sword. With a running leap he was in the air, and already shifting his form. He felt his bones either shrink or grow or completely contort, as his jaw expanded and extended, as his teeth grew into rows of canines. His pale skin darkened and developed hard scales, his hands and fingers converted into claws.

A tyrannosaurus rex met the floor of the pirates' deck, its boards crumpling underneath his weight, and the pirates screamed in terror as a great maw descended upon them.

* * *

Fleet Admiral Sengoku did not lose his head, or his patience, often.

But there were some days that seemed to be dedicated to just testing him; as if some god out there had a personal agenda of 'how far can I push this poor sucker today'.

Today was one of those days.

"Is the pacing really necessary?" Kong sighed, his chin in hand as he sat behind his desk before the aquarium. Sengoku ceased his long strides back forth across the office and turned towards his superior, grave as a burial yard on an overcast morning.

"Unfortunately, sir, I believe it is. To think I thought the capture of Fourth Division commander Thatch was a stroke of luck at first. But of course, a damn D. had to be involved—" Sengoku broke off into a groan as he brought a hand to his eyes. Why did Garp's grandson have to inherit the old man's sheer capacity for stubbornness? Was it possible for a family to be more pigheaded? Within their navy, everyman bore his own definition of justice as a medal of honor. Every one of them lived by what they believed to be right, but there were days when he wished they all could just agree on what the word they bore on their backs even meant.

"Now, now, Fleet Admiral," Kong diverted the topic away from any troublesome grudges. "The situation can still be shifted into our favor. Have the pirate transferred immediately, even if he does die. Simply allow Whitebeard to believe he is still breathing, and lure him into a trap."

"We could finally be rid of one of the Emperors once and for all." The Buddha agreed, but knew there was no chance. "Except, last call I made to G-9 demanding such a thing resulted in the transponder snail's signal suddenly being lost."

"The kid hang up on you?"

"Discreetly, but yes. He insists on keeping the commander alive."

"This child is quickly becoming a nuisance. His work in Alabasta and Impel Down was nothing short of miraculous, but we must still consider that disaster at Thriller Bark and Dressrosa." Vice-Admiral Luffy was undeniably a war hero, him and his small fleet single-handedly responsible for the revival and reunification of the Grand Line's highest admired country, as well as his unorthodox, but disaster preventing actions during the breakout months ago. Garp's grandchild did good work; however, he was a loose-cannon of the worst kind. "Wasn't his promotion to base commander meant to chain him down a bit?"

Sengoku groaned at the reminder. "It worked for a little while. Still, Whitebeard believes that this is all according to our schemes, no doubt. I have not yet received word of the investigation of the newspaper publishers that allowed the article to reach print."

"Brannew is looking into it, I assume." The Commander-in-Chief steepled his hands before his mouth, mulling over the possible scenarios. There was a possibility that another force was at work, playing both the Marines and Whitebeard against each other.

A certain recently active, chaotic figure could be responsible, as so little was known about him that he could be thought to be behind everything. He had played them before, after all. "Any signs of Blackbeard's involvement?"

The Fleet-Admiral jolted, recalling another report he had forgotten in the stress. "Ah, that's another thing. Interrogation of the pirate has revealed that his assaulter was actually another of Whitebeard's crew, Marshall D. Teach. However, it would seem that Teach and the mysterious Blackbeard are one and the same."

"A traitor aiming for Whitebeard's throne, eh?"

"It would seem so. He apparently still has the group made up of some of the escaped Level Six prisoners with him. And there has been talk of him obtaining a Devil Fruit."

"Find out what it was, where they are now, and whatever they are planning. I will discuss the conflict with Whitebeard with the Five Elders."

"Yes sir." Sengoku saluted and took his leave, and Kong waited until he was gone before picking up a transponder snail. Now was hardly the time to be going behind his Fleet Admiral's back and suspecting his own men, but unfortunately there were duties that needed to be done. Inwardly apologizing to his two longest-lived brothers-in-arms, Kong dialed the number for the Head of Cipher Pol.

There was another investigation to be put underway.

* * *

Working was hard. Well, working a desk job from nine to five was hard. Get up, eat breakfast, kiss the wife goodbye, and hop on the crowded shuttle to office building, get bumped around, almost drop the drafts in his suitcase, fix his tie using the reflection in the glass, get off the shuttle, and boss lazy newspaper editors around.

Except, he didn't  _really_ have a wife.

So he really just kissed the mirror.

He took a sip of the coffee he had picked up on the way, black with two packets of artificial sweetener, and glared at the intern that didn't quite get out of the way fast enough. He dropped the drafts in the hands of the secretary with the nervous twitch and the horrendous eye shadow;  _the smokey look so did not suit her complexion at all._  She scrambled to grasp them, hitting herself in the nose and probably getting a painful paper cut across the nostril,  _ouch_ , and gave an anxious greeting of 'Good morning, sir!'

Relax hunny, he thought, I can't actually fire you. But out loud he grunted and muttered into the coffee cup rim about falling sales and news coos. She flinched, fingers quivering as the drafts were shoved aside. "Um, sir, some, uh, nice men from the marines"—Aw, already?— "have been calling all morning. They, uh, insist on speaking with you."

"They can wait, Jan, until I've seen tomorrow's newspaper!" He almost laughed when she flinched, nervously eyeing the rows of ringing snails behind her desk.

"Ye—yessir!" She motioned wildly to the rest of the room, where rows and rows of journalists and editors quaked in their cubicles. Immediately, they all rose and began exchanging papers in a flurry, shoving unedited articles this way and that, organizing those that had been completed and matching photos to captions.

"And need I remind you all that I wanted to see it  _yesterday?"_  A few audibly squeaked in terror as his fist met the strong mahogany of his desk. The coffee cup jumped and rattled, spilling as it fell on its side and rolled off the edge. "And someone clean this mess up! It's disgraceful!" The secretary rushed over with a roll of paper towel, tripping over her heels, and nearly bashing her forehead into his expensive desk.

"Yessir, right away, sir!"

God, this was better than that time he was king. So beat prison, too. "And where's that article on the breakout? We should been on that story months ago!" The secretary gaped in horror at him, wiping desperately at the spilled coffee as she kneeled to the side. Wow, she did have great lipstick. He would have to go through her purse and find out the brand.

"Ah, but sir, the censors say that under absolu—"

"Does it  _look_  like I care about what the censors want me to publish?"

"But sir, the government—"

"Can kiss my fine-tailored suited ass!"

Eventually, he let things in the office cool down, glowering at the newspaper employees while slumped in his plush spinning chair. As usual, he had to resist the urge to twirl in it; as fun as being in character as the hardass, loudmouthed publisher was, sometimes it was hard to not be just himself.

The secretary was eying the ringing snails with dismay and some horror. He felt a little bad then, because the poor dear could potentially lose her job by the end of the day, and for all he knew she could be supporting a family. But duty and loyalty always conquers sympathy, and pity is worthless to a woman with nothing.

But then the ringing stopped, and the office collectively let out a held breath, relief evident on their faces.

He knew it was time to go.

He stood up from his plush chair, carefully constructed a thunderous expression, and all eyes fell on him.

"S—sir?" The secretary called helplessly as he approached the window at the back of the office. Their floor was ten stories up, and he had to admit that the view was alright, overlooking the sprawling metropolis of a city. The sun was rising in the east and shined in his eyes, painting yellow across cerulean blue.

He couldn't hear the feet pounding up the stairs, but he didn't need to.

"Adieu, my friends." He said, because it felt right, like an apology. It tasted of familiarity and a tad bit remorse. He learned the word from a chef he met, and back then the man had spoken it in the same way, carrying the resolution of a soldier to his given duty.

He shattered the glass of the window with a kick. The doors to the office burst open, navy and white clad men swinging in, rifles in hand.

He didn't hesitate, and leapt, just as Brannew shouted for him to freeze. Bullets pelted through the air above him as he plummeted, but he could almost imagine himself as a swan in flight, wind rushing through his wings.

A gust of air slowed his descent suddenly and effectively, and as he touched the ground he cast aside his coat and tie, and touched his face with his right hand. He was in the crowd and stripping off his collared dress shirt before the Marines had even reached the window to glance out, but he heard the echoing of outraged shouts as the people around him whispered.

"What the heck just happened?"

"I dunno, I think something fell through a window?"

"Holy shit, why's glass every—"

He grinned, rolling his shoulders in his t-shirt and felt happy to be free of all those suffocating layers. Minutes later he was strolling off a shuttle at the harbor, grinning at a woman with a purple weave who waited there.

Yeah, this so beat prison.


	3. Shake Up

**Interference and** **Coleopterologist**

The secret had been entrusted with him six years ago. A revelation so grave that he would have denied it if not for his leader's cold, hardened stare and the unspoken request that hung in the air. No others were entrusted with the knowledge, only him, not even their closest friends and allies. He carried the weight proudly on his broad shoulders, but it was still heavy.

His heart pounded as he approached the island. He hadn't known if his heart could even still beat until this moment, when curiosity finally overwhelmed duty and respect and he made the journey to look upon the secret with his own eyes. He went unaccompanied, though he was questioned and harassed by painted lips and blinking, fake eyelashes when he first announced his coming absence.

He felt that his leader suspected his destination, but still said nothing.

In the days of his youth, trekking through the forest was a simple thing, but now his every step caused a disturbance, his bulk pushing aside foliage and entire trees. Still, he had to keep his presence on the island undetected; it would not do for the Navy to  _ever_ learn of this. He would never be able to forgive himself if a simple slip-up of his revealed the truth to the world, and put the little one in danger.

But he was by birth a conspicuous creature.

With great care he continued through the flora and found his prey. A little boy of five crouched at the base of a tree, coated in dirt and smiling as he played by himself. He was a skinny, bouncy thing, with skin as dark as his fathers' and the same wild black hair. Without a doubt the heir of the Monkey name, but his eyes were brighter than the sun and his jubilation as he giggled at some bug crawling up the tree made the spy's lips almost curve.

His leader had told him that he planned for the child to grow up wilder than the wind, unhindered by education of laws, kingdoms, and man's societies. Or practically unhindered by any education at all, it seemed, as the little village to the east had no schools or scholars.

As it was, this child knew nothing of authority and government; his only rules were that of nature herself as he stumbled through the jungle, eyes wide with awe and delight.

Bartholomew Kuma knew better than to be worried, the child bore the brand of D in his name and would not fall as easy prey to any creature, and yet…

He was so small. Everything seemed small in the revolutionary's eyes, in exception of castles and the giants of Elbaf, but the boy even more so with his spindly limbs and large eyes. As if the wind could sweep him up and take him away. Which, it literally could, if his leader only willed it so. If only, and for a moment Kuma felt a longing for something he could never have. He avoided that thought.

Worryingly, the delicate features of the child told him that the boy would never have his grandfather's enormous bulk or his father's subtle but imposing height, and would likely take after his mother instead, a pixie in stature to the very end.

He could probably balance the child on his thumb, and even carry him in his hand in the distant future. What was the saying? Great things come in small packages?

He watched the child play in the forest for hours, and found quickly enough that he adored the little woodland creatures—the animals did not seem bothered by the little one's presence in the least—but the beetles in particular. In a shocking display of patience, he had even managed to sneak up on several large, shiny-armored insects and collect them in his arms, very nearly humming with jubilation as the crawled over his skin.

So entranced by the honest innocence of the display, Kuma slipped up.

Just one misplaced step and a cracked stick later, the little one was staring up at him with enormous eyes, just barely taller than his shoe.

And Kuma felt terrified.

"Woah, mistah," The child spoke clumsily, lisped with missing baby teeth, "You're huge!"

The revolutionary could not find any words to speak, and remained silent.

"Who are you?" The child wondered, no,  _demanded_  really, and he almost answered, so compelled that he opened his mouth to speak.

To avoid seeming silly, he improvised. "Do you like insects?"

The child blinked, but hesitated only for a moment. Along his arms, great arthropods the size of fists roamed. "Yep! They're super cool!"

Immediately the child was delighting in selecting the brightest, shiniest and largest of his collection, holding them up with pride and glee. Kuma had to kneel down, lumbering and awkward, to even get a good look as the boy chattered away.

It was odd to see with his own eyes a D. with such a  _mundane_  and  _innocent_  passion. Any who bore the letter were driven by some irrepressible, inner force to inevitably break the world. D. bearers were people born with hurricanes in their veins and flight on their minds, burning through life with ferocity that… always ended the same way.

A D. was obligated to challenge the world, and lose.

He believed with all his heart that Monkey D. Dragon would break that cycle. But Dragon's son was cursed with the name as well. A little, fragile child up against an entire world.

Within him flowed the blood of Dragon, and yet, Kuma was too weak to have faith in heritage. It seemed too cruel to just stand by and watch the little wild boy grow and expect him to be tenacious enough to take on the harsh future that awaited him. Bartholomew Kuma had long ago grown accustomed to his hardened skin and cybernetic body, but there were days when his heart felt all too soft.

"Child," He interrupted the little one's ramble, "What do you want to be?"

A strange, difficult question for a child. After all, childhood dreams rarely lasted, lost when the realities of maturity and the fickle days of adolescence took hold. But the answer could change everything about this child's fate.

"I dunno," The boy said, frowning. The beetles skittered over his fingers and along his slender forearms.

"What do you like to do?"

"I like adventure!"

Ah, that was a bad answer. A dangerous path.

"What else?"

The boy hesitated and pondered for a moment, before glancing down at his prizes as one took flight and danced around his head.

"Bugs!" He giggled, tracing the long, horned crown of a particular beetle with a smooth, black coat. A good answer, or at least better. Kuma could work with that.

"There are people who spend their lives chasing insects," He told the little one, who stared up at him in awe, as if truly comprehending the difference between their sizes for the first time. "They journey to far off jungles and search for them."

"Like treasure?"

"Like treasure, like pirates. They are called many, many things, arthopodologist, entymologists, or just biologists in general."

"They're scientists?"

"But they are explorers as well."

"Explorers?"

"They go out and find things nobody else has seen. They know things nobody else does. They go all over the world searching for amazing discoveries."

The little one seemed completely enraptured, eyes shining with delight. Every word had hit home with some inexpressible desire within his heart, filled his lungs and throat with anticipation and longing.

Kuma left the island that day grimly satisfied with his work. The child was a stubborn, dreamy one. Once he got an idea in his head, it was unlikely to ever get out.

He would be safe, the revolutionary liked to think. Separated from the war of his forefathers.

It was never that simple, he would realize, years later on an operating table with a goggled face looming above his prone figure as the scalpel slowly slid through his skin.

* * *

**Arrival and the Captain**

"Did you hear?"

"Duh, but I can scarcely believe it!"

"I thought for sure it was a rumor, but he's real!"

"How's the captain handling this?"

"He doesn't seem pleased..."

"He'll probably crush the new guy as soon as he steps in the base, just to establish a pecking order. Nothing's gonna change, who the hell could stand up to the captain?"

"But he's from Headquarters! He's gotta be tough."

"Or he's spoiled as all hell."

A busy Marine base in the eastern seas was usually a bad omen, but on this day the townspeople shared in the sailors' enthusiasm and anxiety. The uniformed soldiers of the Navy took special care with their weapons, carefully unloading and reloading rifles and polishing swords, ironing fresh shirts and hoisting new flags of white and blue on every pole. Every man, and the occasional woman, was desperate to keep busy, unable to sit still in lethargy as they were usually prone to. Asides from the patrols sailing across the seas, due to return in weeks or days, each Marine compulsively prepared himself for presentation, over and over again, fixing caps and straightening neckties.

In the town, villagers whispered to each other over market stalls and bar tables, before awkwardly returning to normal conversation.

Some dared to hope for a savior, some dreaded another tyrant.

Only a single man was ignorant of the news. He watched the marines bustle around the yard, more nervous energy flowing about them than usual, with disinterested eyes, paying notice only because he could see naught else besides the stone wall and blue sky from his position, tied to a wooden cross like a dog. Most days the bold soldiers would come nudge him with their rifle butts, or kick dust into his face, or that cruel child would have them actively beat him, but today they all let him alone.

But damn, was he  _starved._  Could do with some booze too...

Only another, very different man was aware of the situation and felt no anxiety. Marine Captain Morgan was a ferocious, giant man with an axe that dwarfed even his huge mass imbedded in his forearm, a more violent replacement for his lost limb. He had been the first to hear the news, and was far from pleased. Headquarters was sending over another, freshly promoted Captain to join his base and hopefully gain experience. Morgan was expected to take the young man under his wing, but he had other plans. Anyone who presented a challenge to his authority would be crushed under his boot, because on this island, in this base,  _he_  ruled supreme. He was a king and lord of this island and villages, the commander of navy's might.

Fledglings from Headquarters would very quickly be put in their place.

The tyrant had no idea what he was in for.

When the battleship carrying the new arrival came into port, the villagers hid in their houses and shops, but peeked out their doors and windows constantly, unabashedly curious.

A crew of Marines disembarked, dark circles under their eyes and exasperated expressions almost permanently carved into their faces. They all wore the typical sailor uniform; no captain could be identified among them.

The townspeople whispered and gossiped, but gradually relaxed. The arrival of seatless soldiers was nothing unusual, and they all looked too tired to cause a ruckus. The troop marched to the base and was welcomed by their comrades at the gate, a long line of men posed in salutes, ready to greet the new officer.

Who was mysteriously absent.

"Where is your captain?" Morgan demanded when the newcomers stood at attention, left hands posed alongside their pure white caps.

"He flew off, sir!" was the unanimous response, completely straight-faced but with no hesitation. The men were all too exhausted to care how ridiculous it sounded; they were beyond the point of attempting to find reason in any of the actions of their missing commander.

Morgan raised a blond eyebrow. "You insubordinate little punks think you can mess with  _me?"_  He lifted his battle axe threateningly, allowing the light to catch its razor edge. The sailors flinched, some baffled by the aggression the commander displayed.

"No, sir! It is the truth, sir!" One spoke out as the leader, and the Captain turned on him, his bared teeth hardly visible past his iron jaw.

The sailor gulped.

Meanwhile, a young man strolled through the village in a tank top and slacks, a Marine cap shadowing his eyes from the sun. Behind him trailed a short kid with rosy hair, nervously stumbling in his footsteps.

The town was nice, Luffy thought, and the jumpy villagers were hilarious. He'd be just walking down the street, humming, and stop to ask for directions, and suddenly everybody in a ten foot radius would just drop everything and become statues during an earthquake, frozen but shaking all over.

He had no idea what kind of comedians these guys were, but they were great!

Usually he'd be lost about now, except the base was in clear sight, looming over his head, a turquoise volcano slashed with deep blue.

But of course, he was faced with a dilemma. While maybe jumping off and moonwalking with the kid they had picked up just a few hours ago to the island so he could grab a meal in the village had been a good idea at the time, he was now expected to report in and face the Base Commander, which meant saluting to a stuffy superior and being yelled at and possibly being trapped in the base. He would much rather wander around the village for a while, but the longer he waited the less likely he'd get a mission. And he wanted one  _right now._  He'd only just returned to East Blue, and already he was bored without a ship rocking underneath him and pirates on the horizon. The sooner he faced his new boss, the sooner he'd be given a crew and orders to patrol the area, and the sooner he could ignore those orders and catch himself some scumbags.

But there was also a delicious smell in the air.

Ah, decisions, decisions.

* * *

**Now Day 2: 9:00-12:00 A.M.**

It was going to be another hot night (not that it ever wasn't). The activity on the base slowed as drills broke up for the day and divisions returned to their barracks, replaced by the night patrols and routine maintenance.

For some though, the barracks were not an option.

Fortunately for Robin, Luffy arranged for Nami to have a small quarters connected to her cartography study, separate from the women's rooms, and very few dared to venture there. Tales of horror and murder, of predecessors that stumbled in and ruined a single map, of a raging weather witch who hung her charred victims from the conjoined balcony, kept everyone away.

So she and Robin shared the rooms quite happily, merging their massive closets and libraries and were closer than sisters.

The rest of them had only one place safely rest their heads.

Luffy wandered into his spacious quarters with a yawn and dragging feet, throwing off his coat, not particularly caring if it made it to the chair or ended up on the floor. His rooms were large, considering he was the highest ranked in the base, and generally messy beyond belief anyway. They other occupants didn't quite mind it; they each were used to far worse, and appreciated the extra furniture like the couch and fireplace.

His sandals were kicked off as he belly-flopped on his cushiony bed.

Zoro followed after, stretching before he removed the swords from his waist and carefully leaned them against the bed post. He shoved the younger over to make room for himself on the only bed in the room. "At least take your freaking tie off." He muttered, but the only response was a childish "meh" as the boy buried his face in the comforter. "You'll choke yourself in your sleep."

"Who is choking?" A skeleton asked as he entered the room through the mahogany double doors, rambling along unfazed by the sight of the bounty hunter wrestling with the marine vice-admiral's tie.

"Luffy if he doesn't let me get this damn thing off." The tie finally came loose—honestly, Zoro swore Sanji tied it around their leader's neck so firmly so the brat actually would get strangled and never steal food form the kitchens again—and the annoying thing was cast aside. "Where's Franky?"

"Still at the docks, I'm afraid." Brook answered, recalling the cyborgs excited proclamations of 'Suuppper!', "He says he's going to work through the night, he's so excited about this new project." The tall musician slipped into the closet and came out with arms loaded with blankets and pillows, which he ungracefully dumped on the rug. He stripped off his day clothes, unlike the others he preferred the pajamas Nami had bought for him a while back, right in the center of the room.

No point in modesty if there was nothing to be modest of, yohohoho.

Zoro stretched out and fell asleep almost instantaneously, the commander also in a similar state alongside of him. It would be suspicious if the base commander kept multiple beds in his private rooms, so the two of them shared. Luffy was a tactile person, after all, and was apparently used to curling up with an older brother.

Brook had heard stories of the two of them, a bounty hunter and a ditsy marine captain, floating around East Blue in a tiny dingy together in their early days. Personal space probably didn't exist after that.

As a skeleton and a cyborg, the other two roommates each had bodies harder than any floor, so Brook and Franky did not mind napping on the hard wood amid a mass of blankets and pillows. They were both a tad tall and large for most beds anyway.

Tonight Brook was alone in his nest, listening to the snores of his younger companions, unless Chopper elected to join him.

Or Luffy did, as he was  _very, very_ tactile, and there were times when they would all sleep on the floor, piled up together in the blankets, and the vice-admiral's fingers would wind around and between Brooks ribs and Franky's too heavy, too hard arms became a steely pillow for the swordsman. The reindeer would come too, fully grown now with fur all poofed up, and awkward, hoofed feet would nudge them in their dreams.

And for lonely souls, it was heaven.

It had been the same on the ships before, but now they were locked in this base together, wistfully gazing out to sea day in and day out. Little things like their close sleeping arrangements kept them going.

He knew without a doubt the two on the bed were dreaming of adventure. They all did, and woke up with their tongues stuck to the tops of the mouths, strangled by words they couldn't say.  _Sorry_ ,  _I hate this,_  and _Dressrosa._

They did not speak of Dressrosa or Saboady Archipelago. Words felt impractical to express the regret, the longing, the betrayal.

So instead, they talked of happier times, happier things. But Brook could not keep his thoughts from turning the subject over and over on nights like these.

* * *

They obtained an island map from a division member's old friend's drinking buddy's cousin's ally's captain's super secret, unnamable contact—which was more than just a tad sketchy and a terribly suspicious, but god, they didn't have time to waste on a luxury like skepticism—and they decided to just accept their blessing and get started.

So Marco and Ace had loaded up on the Striker and set off, blasting through turbulent waters from early morning all the way to dusk.

The sun was setting when they finally entered the Blistering Strip, crimson rays painting the seas magenta, but even still Marco could feel the stifling heat all around him. Ace was unbothered, eyes set dead ahead with stony resolution, unlike the sweating phoenix who did not quite have the same absolute resistance to heat. There was a difference between being a creature of fire, and being  _made_ of fire.

The steam that rose from the constantly boiling waters would scald the skin of other men's bones, yet for them it was only a hindrance to their sight and a bit inconvenient, but the air was muggy and unpleasant.

Temperatures began to cool as they finally neared their destination, the steaming waves giving way to water that was about as hot as a shower dialed all the way up. The island the Marines had set up on was not small, it was a huge landmass comprised of mostly wasteland, except for a single side of dense, humid jungle. Cutting through the island's entirety was a river, separating it into two halves and splitting even G-9 down the middle. According to the map, the buildings of the base were all connected by bridges over the river, which dumped into a cove before emptying into the ocean. Surrounding the entire base and a great deal of land set aside for training and agriculture were patrolled, monitored walls. The river was the only way in or out, approved ships slipping into the base's bay and eventually into their sheltered docks, carved into the island's rock faces.

The plan was that they would help the others slip in that way once they motored down the river to the back entrance and found a way in.

By all likelihood, the security would be weak.

Unfortunately, going down the river with a trail of fire blazing behind them would probably make that irrelevant.

So, they would be either walking or sailing and  _paddling._

Joy.

So they drifted downstream, with all the grace of children in a canoe for the first time, bumping into banks and struggling to navigate the current.

"You're on the wrong side!"

"I'm steering!  _You're_ on the wrong side!"

"That's  _not_ how you're supposed to steer, yoi."

"Then why don't  _you_  do it?!"

"No, you need the practice. Keep going."

"Like hell! You just can't do it either!"

"Hey, I'm much older than you, yoi!"

"Is that supposed to mean you have more experience, or just have Altzheimer's?!"

Good times, not that Marco would remember later on since he apparently had developed some kind of mental condition.

But eventually they could make out a huge wall rising above them in the gloom, by all appearances unmanned.

The walls continued into the water a few feet on each bank, where they connected with a tall, steel gate emblazoned with the Navy's symbol. The gate must have been designed to accommodate wildlife—that is, if there  _was_  any—as each bar was two-inches thick and almost a foot apart. The water bubbled through, only slightly choked by the restrictions, and the current still flowed strong.

"That's a problem." Ace said. He gazed up at the obstruction, searching for any windows, but the darkness was too thick. There were no signs that the walls were manned, but they could be booby-trapped. Just one wrong move, one bad decision, could trigger an alarm.

Did they risk it and climb here, or look for another way in?

"So much for getting in by river." His companion relented. Of course it would have been too easy for everything to go right. They couldn't even just fly over, Marco's flames been ridiculously flashy and horrendously bright blue.

Ace groaned. They were going to have to climb. At least he had some rope stored away.

Wait.

_Waiiittt._ Now there was an idea: a suicidal, crazy idea, but an idea nonetheless.

"Actually," He smirked at his friend. "I know a way in."

Marco raised a blond eyebrow, clearly skeptical. "What?"

Ace rummaged around, risking a small flame to give himself a little light to find the coil of rope in the Striker. There was about thirty feet of it, which would probably be enough. And of course, a latch to act as a heavy weight.

Hah, this was going to be great.

They took the Striker back upstream and left her a decent way up the bank, not really worried about anyone stumbling upon it in the uninhabited desert wasteland, before trekking back on foot.

"Okay, here's how we're gonna play this." He began, examining the gate more closely. Every five feet up or so was a horizontal bar linking the vertical ones together; it would be bad if he chose one that wasn't high enough to provide the proper leverage.

"Ace." Marco muttered dubiously, not appreciating the mischievous expression printed across his freckled face. "What are you planning?"

_I'm not planning anything,_  he almost replied,  _this is all Sabo._  But he didn't, and instead just grinned cheekily.

He uncoiled the rope, finding one end and securing the latch to it, before moving as close as he could to the wall and the edge of the water. He swung the rope in a circle a few times to get the hang of the weight and length.

Then he took aim and released. The weighted end flew up and through the air, slipping right between the two closest bars, before falling down on the other side, catching the connecting bar ten feet up.

"Oh no. No. Absolutely not." Marco said, and Ace chuckled.

"Come help me grab it and pull it back through." He demanded, and with a slight struggle and a considerable amount of teamwork—meaning Ace pretending to be an ice-skater as Marco lifted him and extended him over the water—they managed to snag the weighted end of the rope again and bring back through the bars.

"This is a bad idea." Marco must have felt obligated to point out as the retrieved end was tied around his waist. "Suicidal, yoi."

"Come on, are you man or chicken?" Ace teased, "Or pineapple?"

Marco glared. "Hammer, actually."

"Stop ruffling your feathers and jump in."

One heartless push, an indignant squawk, and a splash later, the phoenix was gone.

Ace gripped the remaining end of the rope as it tightened in his hands, counting down.

Then, he pulled and pulled, feeling the deadweight dragging against the current, until a white-clothed torso broke the surface. Another tug, and the head emerged, gasping and spluttering.

Marco struggled for breath, limbs still hanging dead in the water, suspended on the other side of the gate by the rope around his stomach.

"You alright?" Ace called in a stage-whisper.

"Fu—" Cough. "Fuck you."

"Just grab the freaking gate and get to the bank."

Once Marco had successfully dragged himself ashore, Ace tied his own end to the rope around his own waist while the blond undid his.

"Now, I'm gonna dive in. It's gonna be harder this time, 'cause the rope is wrapped the wrong way, but it should hold."

"Should?"

"Yup."

"Maybe you should just risk being seen and—"

"Relax, pineapple, I'll be fine as long as you pull me up."

Giving the rope a sharp, final tug, Ace jumped right in.

Marco wasn't quite sure how long he was supposed to wait before pulling Ace up. Trying to see into the black water was pointless, he obviously couldn't hear anything but the thunder of the current, and the rope was not tightening in his grip.

If anything it was slack.

Had the stupid hot-head gotten stuck between the bars? Or had he not been able to position his body correctly to slip through at all?

Moments slid by like minutes before he realized something was very, very wrong.

A quick jerk on the rope confirmed his sudden fear—no weight fought against his tug—as well as a quick scan with Observational Haki.

There was nothing on the other end of the line.

It had snapped.

"Fuck everything, yoi."

He waited another few moments to figure out what to do.

Ace had apparently been swept away by the current, unfortunate since the water coursing down the river was terribly salty, and the others would be hanging about the marine base bay in a tiny boat by now, waiting for them to give a signal.

Marco could not exactly dive in after his brother, that course of action would do far more bad than good, but just walking away and continuing on seemed kind of heartless.

Well, Ace had gotten out of worse before.

And the punk  _did_ shove him in. And called him a pineapple.

"Sorry, buddy." He shrugged. "The show must go on."

* * *

**Now: Day 2: 4:00 A.M.**

Vista was getting sick of being stuck in a dinghy with a crossdresser and a twerp.

Sure, he loved his brothers, but damn, they were annoying after twelve hours of being cramped in close quarters. It wasn't like him to get annoyed, so he couldn't imagine how the two of them, much more prone to bursts of bad temper, were feeling.

Izo had taken to polishing her pistols in the dark. Real useful.

Haruta had taken to being a little pain in his ass.

"What's taking them so damn long?" and "They should have contacted us by now!" and "Let's just bust in a slaughter 'em all!"

"I really do not think that's advisable." Izo drawled, attempting to decipher in the blackness if the smudge she was wiping was actually just her imagination or was really just that stubborn.

"Yeah, relax already."

"You're too relaxed!"

Vista ignored the angry huffing and turned his eyes to the sea. It was a humid, stifling night, as if they were trapped under a thick, damp blanket, and a marine layer was forming above their heads and blocking out the moon and stars, a sign that the rising sun would be soon to follow.

He trusted his superior commanders, but they were cutting it close…

Speaking of cutting something close though, what was that shadow looming above them?

It kind of looked like a battleship—Oh.

Wow, could he be more moronic.

"Shit! Move, move!" He snatched up the pathetic pieces of wood they called paddles and began to stroke through the water as quickly, powerfully, and silently as he could as the arriving warship plowed through the waves.

He only barely managed to them out of the way of the bow, and the wake of the ship itself handled the rest, pushing them away from the large ship's flank. Haruta was freaking out a bit, snarling about how Marines should watch where they're fucking going or something, but Izo looked contemplative.

"We don't have time to wait for Ace and Marco. There's only an hour to sunrise if ships are returning from night patrol." She whispered, removing the barrel of her gun by twisting it to the side. Reaching into her robe, she pulled out a more specialized barrel, and fitted in the necessary ammunition.

"We gonna hitch a ride with them?" Vista muttered as the grappling hook gleamed slightly in the limited light. He never really properly appreciated the practicality of Izo's multipurpose and interchangeable pistols; the technology came from the strange marksman's home country, a place that was never really acknowledged for its great advancements due to some crazy isolationist polices (Vista couldn't find it on a map even if he wanted to; the place was so adverse to visitors). [1]

The shot was on target, the hook catching a back rail of the ship almost soundlessly, and Izo dismantled the contraption again, leaving the barrel containing the cable tied to their bow so they wouldn't need to hold it and possibly dislocate their arms.

Vista hoped there was no Haki users aboard the ship that was unknowingly towing them into the base, because they were sitting ducks if they were discovered.

That thought jinxed them.

A tall marine appeared on deck, the coat of justice hanging around his shoulders, though they could only tell due to how adjusted their eyes had become to the darkness. He was striding along the aft with long steps and a steady gait; they could not see his face, but he was holding up a transponder snail to his mouth.

"Rear admiral X Drake reporting in."

He was answered by a garble the Whitebeard Pirates were too far away to identify, despite how clearly sound traveled over the water.

"There have been no further attempts at breaching the perimeter. All the pirates seem to have withdrawn."

No, they just loaded up into a paddle boat in the middle of the night and are now hitchhiking on your rear.

"Please inform the replacement patrol to make use of radar. We cannot rule out the possibility of an underwater attack."

Damn, why  _didn't_  they think of that? Maybe they should have called up Jinbei after all. Maybe they weren't acting as rationally and clear-headed as they liked to think when they hatched this plan to begin with.

Fortunately, the rear admiral did not catch a glimpse of them tagging along on his aft in the dark, and soon enough they were in the base's main cove, heading towards what looked to be a renovated cavern.

Which was lit up, clear as day.

Great.

"Vista!" Izo hissed in his ear, releasing the grappling hook from its anchor before they were dragged in the light and sight of the enemy. She pointed across the water when he grunted inquisitively. They were surrounded by rock wall on three sides, inside a natural cove carved by the sea, but in the hard stone the marines had blasted out great caves to serve as shelter for their ships. Most docks were well lighted, manned by little figures in orange from what he could see, in exception of a select few. Izo was directing his gaze to one of these vacant caverns, in which he could just barely make out a little blue light. It flickered on and off, barely larger than a lit match, easily mistakable for a trick of the eye.

He picked up the paddles again and began to row towards Marco, wondering what had taken the phoenix so long.

* * *

**Day 2: 2:00 A.M.**

He didn't get much sleep due to his absurd workload. But when he did have the chance to sleep, he never took it.

So here he was, night fishing. He wasn't the kind of guy that feared the dark. No, he feared scary things he could and couldn't see, but he'd also grown up running around the village forest chasing down spiders, so mundane things didn't tend to trigger his mysterious-knee-knocking disease.

He may be a coward compared to his insane friends, but he wasn't all that scared of being alone in a marine base. The place was pretty safe.

Or so he tried to tell himself…

Maybe he should have asked Luffy to come fishing with him? It was kind of lonely. Or he could have gotten Chopper out of the medical staff's quarters. The vice-admiral and the little doctor liked fishing, it wouldn't have been too much to ask.

But it  _would_  have been dumb, because the commander also liked to sleep, and there wasn't actually anything to catch.

While there was sea life out there in the blistering strip, horrifying scary monsters that had adapted to resist the extreme temperatures, most marine life didn't bother to swim up the river. The fish out in the bay enjoyed the lukewarm water, but the river flowed from the hotter side, carrying with it tremendous heat that bothered even the native aquatic creatures.

So, here he was, fishing in an empty river.

Last time he had stolen a fish carcass from the kitchens, stripped it to the bone, and pretended he caught it, claiming the water had boiled its meat right of its bones.

Luffy and Chopper had been awestruck. Sanji had kicked him fifteen yards for wasting food.

But, ah, at this point, he'd do anything to avoid sleeping. It was why he signed on as Lu's secretary. It was aggravating and stressful, but the exhaustion was a handy deterrent of night horrors. Anything to keep the nightmares away.

He was contemplating the different shadows that were forming in the obscurity all around him, chills creeping up his spine, when the unexpected happened.

He felt something tug on his line.

Weird. He tried to reel in, but whatever had gotten caught on his hook was  _heavy._  Realizing he might  _actually_  have caught something besides a cola bottle, he leapt to his feet excitedly and pulled as hard as he could, fear forgotten. Whatever it was, it was big, but put up little resistance.

He jerked the fishing rod, and it broke the surface.

And by it, Usopp meant  _he._

"A person?" Oh god, oh god, he pulled out a murder victim, didn't he? Some crazy psychopath had slaughtered someone on the base and dumped in the river, hoping that the flesh would be  _boiled off their bones—_

Okay, maybe his imagination was getting the better of him again.

He dragged the man ashore, the body was warm, unsurprising considering where they were, but his hands were shaking and he had no idea what to do.

CPR? But that required immediate follow-up medical attention and nobody else was around, and god what should he do? Call for help?

But then, the man suddenly began to breathe, the air rattling through his teeth like stones on the river bank. He turned over on his side and began coughing up water and heaving all over the sand, but he was breathing.

Whew. Not a murder victim after all.

"You alright?" Usopp asked a little uselessly. He couldn't make out much in the dark, besides the fact that the man must be fair skinned with dark, shaggy hair. Oh, and he seemed to have a hat hanging around his neck, and his torso was complete bare.

Had he been going on some kind of late night swim?

"Yeah," The man spluttered, trying to regulate his breaths. "Thanks."

"No problem. But what were you doing in there?"

The man paused for a moment. "Oh, uh, you know. Swimming." Usopp would have found nothing strange with it if not for the awkward way he said the words. Everyone he knew had much weirder hobbies than night-dipping. Though the guy  _was_  dressed oddly, like some sort of cowboy-themed stripper. Still not any stranger than Franky.

"Swimming? Really?"

"Uh, you know,  _swimming._ "

Oh,  _damn._  Lucky bastard. Usopp wondered which pretty lady on base was in the river scantily clad, and shamefully wished he had rescued her from drowning instead.

"Well, best go find your girlfriend. I hope she's okay."

"Uh, yeah, I'm sure she's fine. She's, uh, a better swimmer than me." The man was on his feet, slightly jittery about something or another. That's probably what happened to people who nearly drown in the river of their own base while getting some. Or maybe he hadn't been with a girl at all.

He figured it was best not to ask as the man gathered himself. "Uh, which way back to, uh, the docks?"

"The docks? You must be new, huh? Guess it's kinda hard to tell in the dark."

"Uh, yeah. New, that's me. And I have this awful sense of direction." Great, just hwat the base needed. More attractive, muscley guys getting lost and ending up in the lady's quarters.

"Just follow the river down that way." Usopp pointed towards the bay, packing up his rod. Might as well head back inside, before he came across any other skinny-dippers of the male gender.

The muscular, bare-shirted man hurried off, pulling on his soaking wet cowboy hat, without so much as a salute.

Geez, save a sucker's life and they don't even realize you're their superior officer.

* * *

**Lost and Found and the Bounty Hunter**

The Pirate Hunter was an interesting man.

Particularly his green hair. Luffy watched the moss ball bob up and down, up and down and side to side, as the starving man shoveled food into his mouth. With some nourishment in his stomach, some ale warming his blood, and clean clothes, the former prisoner looked remarkable better, and considerably less demonic than before.

"Hah, that was great." Zoro sighed, leaning back into his chair and patting his stomach, evidently satisfied. Luffy spun his fork in his hand, Zoro had finished three plates, but he had polished off six, and knew better than to eat more, no matter how much he wanted to.

His companion came to the same conclusion, eying the stacked plates with a raised, disapproving eyebrow. "How'd a scrawny guy like you eat so much?"

Luffy grinned, but ducked behind his cap as the nice tavern lady took their platters away.

"He always does." Coby said, still shifting around in his new uniform, uncomfortable but glowing with pride.

"Hardly the strangest thing I've seen today." The swordsman snorted. "So, you're head of this base now?"

"Uh huh, well, I  _guess._ "

"There's nobody else, really." Now that Morgan was locked away in the holding cells, beat to a pulp and thoroughly unconscious, Luffy was the top dog of the entire area. Which was kind of sad, considering he only arrived a few hours ago.

Zoro must have noticed how lackluster the captain's response was, as dark eyes followed his gaze out the window, all the way down the village street to the glittering harbor. The calloused fingers of the swordsman twitched, aching with some undistinguishable whim.

"We'll be seeing a lot of each other, then."

Immediately the captain's head snapped towards him, "Eh? Really?" There was a note of excitement in the boy's voice that made a smile quirk at Zoro's lips.

"I have to drop off my catches here."

A smile shined like the sun, and didn't fade even as the swordsman gathered his blades and rose to leave.

"Er, sir?" Coby whimpered when the Pirate Hunter was gone, "Did he take any supplies with him? Any on his boat surely went bad while he was in custody—"

"Eh?"

"Hopefully he won't try to eat them, he could die of food poisoning—"

"EH?!"

Ten minutes later the new captain of the marine base was dashing through town with a sack of sailing supplies slung across his back.

The Pirate Hunter's boat was already gone, drifting away from the docks, at least two miles away. Undeterred, the marine hopped off the dock and continued on, dashing through the sky as if he was stepping on wind.

"ZORO!"

"WHAT?"

"YOU MORON!"

"WHO THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING A MORON?"

Back on shore, Coby and the marine lieutenant groaned.

They groaned even more when the little boat disappeared over the horizon without the new captain returning, and they both just  _knew_ the two had somehow managed to get  _lost_  in plain view of the harbor.

"He'll be back, right?"

"God I hope so."

* * *

**Day 2: 7:00 A.M.**

"Luffy," He called as he stomped into the office, weighed down by another stack of papers that he knew were doomed to inevitably end up back in his arms anyway, "I need you to look over these."

His vice-admiral was sitting in his desk chair for once, something that happened very rarely, as the whimsical teen typically preferred to lounge or perch on top of the desk itself and nap on the official documents he was supposed to be filling out. Or he was found just staring out the window for practically hours on end.

Behavior like that was something Usopp was used to, Luffy had done the very same before his promotion on the ship's bow. Living within a base didn't suit the energetic young man, and it showed some days. They avoided speaking about why they were here in G-9, as guilt still twisted in Usopp's gut at the thought.

But today, Luffy was intently focused on a few sheets of paper, pen in hand and scribbling away with concentration the sniper rarely viewed on his childish superior's face outside of battle.

Immediately, he was curious. Luffy, working? Without Nami or himself looming over his shoulder and practically forcing his hand along?

Absurd. Too good to be true.

So Usopp placed down his burden on the desk's corner, hoping vainly that maybe this time nobody would topple it over, and stole one of the pages. The vice-admiral looked up from his occupation with an encouraging grin.

"Luffy," He said, "Are you doodling?"

"Shishishi~! They're pretty good, huh?"

Usopp stared at the sheet in his hand, trying to comprehend the ovals and circles with jagged lines sticking out of them in all directions, and the chicken scratch the filled the margins.

"As if! What even are these?" Usopp snorted, casting the sheet aside and made a grab for the others, fully intending to just throw them out and get his commanding officer back on task. Luffy, stubborn child that he was, was faster and gathered them to his chest defensively.

"They're beetles! Duh!"

"God, Luffy, you have zero artistic ability, huh? Can't even get bugs right."

"Can to!"

"Whatever, what would you even know about beetles anyway? Everybody knows the only thing that goes through your head is dinner!"

Luffy didn't flush—he never did, embarrassment and mortification meant nothing to him—but he did shoot the sniper a scorned look, brow furrowed and tight and low, his lips drawn in an angry line.

Usopp knew the beginnings of a tantrum when he saw them. And sure enough, Luffy had swept by him in seconds, scribbles and unintelligible scrawl crumpling in hands that shook with frustration.

Zoro, who had just wandered in with a yawn, blinked as the younger stormed past him without a word. "What's up with him?"

"I snapped at him for doodling," Usopp sighed, handing the swordsman the one paper he had managed to confiscate. "Probably shouldn't have, but I really do need him to work, Zoro. We'll all be in deep trouble if we don't sort through the orders here."

"What's the orders say?" Zoro smoothly dodged the topic of the commander's scribbles.

Usopp's hands shook as he scanned over the documents; they had been faxed over as soon as dawn broke across the sky. "They're from Sengoku. He… he wants us to transfer the pirate now." He didn't mention that Luffy had been dodging the Fleet Admiral's calls all of the day before. The swordsman knew their vice-admiral better than anyone in the world, as far as the sniper knew, and had probably already gathered that much.

Zoro frowned, one hand rubbing the hilt of Wadou. "Isn't that too risky? Whitebeard could be waiting for that."

"Yeah, that's kind of the point."

"…War?"

"…War."

The word tasted like a gravestone on Usopp's lips, and he could almost smell the scent of lilies in the air at the memories that arose. Tonight would be another sleepless night.

Zoro turned and went after the pissy commander. Not that Usopp was worried, Luffy would be back on his own, as he was never able to stay mad at anyone for more than a few minutes. Everything was water under the bridge to him.

But best check the drawers again, in case he had stored away more distracting doodles.

The magazine page was still there, as well as the usual trinkets and broken pencils, candy wrappers, scraps of torn up paper, and little plastic toys of bugs.

Wait.

Usopp gazed down at the page for a second time. The grinning, freckly second division commander of the Whitebeard pirates stared back.

But why did the guy look so familiar?

Shaggy black hair, bare chest, and…

An orange cowboy hat.

Luffy's doodles slid from his fingers.

"ZORO!"

* * *


	4. In Your Eyes

**Familiarity and Historian**

He woke up to her in the crumbling ruins, a hole in her back from a hook and blood leaking from the corner of her mouth. Had she bitten her tongue or lip, or was her internal organs so badly damaged? Tears were rolling down her face; quiet sobs echoing in the ancient tome as she told the king the truth about her wishes.

"Hoping, and expecting, are two different matters. I have always been looking for the true history." His vision was blurring around the edges, and he was lying on the hard tile of stone, but there was still feeling in his limbs. The king did not grasp her words, but they struck a chord of recognition within him.

A distant memory of three years ago.

"I don't understand, what is this 'true history'?" The woman grew silent, as if disappointed that the royal did not know what she spoke of, before shuddering out a painful breath. Her eyes were familiar, in that moment, to Luffy at least. They were blue, but the same as his brother's despite the disparity of color.

"...Forget it."

He didn't want to see that look on her face, or that broken curve of her lips, or the cold acceptance and despair in her countenance.

"For twenty years, I have searched for it. Here lies my last hope, nothing more than another failure." A familiar rage and love bubbled in his chest, like that moment in Arlong Park where he landed in Nami's prison cell.

Nico Robin should smile honestly, with shining eyes and a bell-like laugh. She shouldn't bleed or cry; she should be happier. She should eat more; she was too thin. He wanted to brush the dust out of her hair and make her laugh. He wanted to tell her that whatever she was trying to do, she hadn't failed, because she was alive and that meant she could try again. As long as you live, you can always try again.

"Dying here, like this, it was inevitable. I'm tired of this life! All I wanted... all I wished was to find the true history. Yet...my dream...just had too many enemies."

Enemies? Who? She couldn't die here! No matter who her enemies were or how many they numbered, she, who had saved his life without a catch, should not be so crushed.

"But...What if...we found the history that cannot be told? The meaning of the true history-"

The true history. The truth. It sounded nice, the truth. He didn't like lies.

Why did the government want such a lady dead, from when she was eight? She must be like Ace. He had to get her out of here, she should live, just like Ace should live, just like Sabo should have lived.

He rose to his feet shakily, but he felt sturdy. He felt more certain about what he must do than he had in a long time. The cloaked man in the rain had told him that someday, he'd know what he wanted from the world, and he felt closer to those words now, as if they suddenly mattered while before they were just another mystery.

He grabbed the king and the woman, slinging her over his shoulder and ignoring the hole in her back. She would live, he'd make sure of it.

"Stop, you stupid marine! I'm going to die anyway, so leave me!" She clawed at his back, yelling in his ear, but more importantly, she was still crying. The king was shuddering in his grasp, eyes wide and body frail. He was old and brittle, the woman thin and fragile. Handle with care.

"I don't want you to die." He said, because it was that simple. She saved him tons of times already, and she had dreams that made his heart soar. He would make that pretty goal his own, just like all the others.

So he carried them out, the woman hissing and spitting about bounties and greed, the old man watching him with awed eyes.

The truth, he liked the sound of that. It was a pretty word, blue. Definitely blue. But the lady was purple...

And he collapsed, after somehow sitting the king down and setting the woman on her feet. Must...be hard to...walk in those shoes...of hers...

"King guy," He managed to force out, "Don't let them get her. Can you- can you hide her in the palace?"

"I can, if she is willing."

Ah, that was good. The king was a nice guy, like Vivi. Wow, the lady's heels were... really tall. She was really tall...

"I like it. Your dream." And it was all black as the skies cried.

* * *

"Geez, Luffy, what's going on with you? You only just woke up, but have such a serious face on!"

"Yeah, and what are you wearing? The nice servants patched up your uniform for you, so why-"

"Everyone," He interrupted, and they all fell silent, recognizing his tone. "There's something I need to talk to you all about."

* * *

**Chapter 4: In Your Eyes**

* * *

**Day 2: 3:00 A.M.**

It was funny how his hometown affected his current life in so many ways. Some days he felt endlessly dogged on by nostalgia, unable to think of much else but the brightest days of his childhood. If all headings lead to Sabaody Archipelago, then all thoughts lead back home.

Now, the underlying stink of trash and sickness not quite masked underneath layers and layers of pungent Alabastan perfume and cheap incense burned the nose of his companion, causing the not-quite-man to cough into his sleeve and wheeze at intervals. But the odor tickled his nose and attempted to make him smile and laugh, resulting in a struggle to maintain his mask. The horrible smell was just so familiar.

Across the beaten, dented and grease-marked table, the amateur reporter Abusa was muttering under his harsh breaths about the stench, glowering about the dark, musky room, even though he had thought the man would appreciate how the dark and the stink of death resembled Thriller Bark. Still, since he was apparently relaxed enough to complain, the man must have been unperturbed by his presence, though he chalked the reporter's comfort up to arrogance. Apparently the subordinate of a former Warlord maintained his dignity and status within his own mind, even in the piranha pool that was the pirates' New World.

"About my pay?" His companion demanded after a minute of struggling to breathe in the backroom of a seedy bar in the middle of one of the grimiest towns on the sea. Considering the entire inelegance of their situation, one would think that Abusa would be a bit more polite toward his employer, but even coated in filth with torn sleeves and stained shirts, the man with a lion face believed himself to have enough ground to act like he was still an actual player in the game on the high seas, not an obsolete laughingstock writing for gossip rags.

Nevertheless, he pulled out the requested bag of coin and tossed it upon the table. The hybrid creature leaped upon it with a sort of rapid desire that caused him to chuckle. How the mighty can fall.

Once the payment was in grasp, Abusa regained his prideful demeanor, leathery nose high in the air. "Not enough," He hissed, even as he clutched the money close to his chest, "I said I wanted to be completely reimbursed for the dangers I had to go through to get that information."

He laughed again. He couldn't help it. "Revenge was part of your pay. We aren't going to pay you a fortune for the payback you've been dreaming of."

"Payback." Abusa snorted under another suffering breath. Zombie land must have smelt better than he initially assumed. "Except there's no guarantee of that at all, is there?"

"If you think one of our plans is going to fail, you've been reading too much propaganda. And not even the good stuff."

"Maybe Whitebeard will snuff those bastard Marines for us, maybe not. I want my fair cut either way."

"Those 'bastard Marines' are already suffering a great deal because of your article, I assure you. If you'd like, we can provide front-row seats to the fallout when this finally all blows up."

"I—we—don't want  _seats_ , we want  _blood_  and our status back. But we can't get either right now,  _so give me my damn pay._ "

" _No._ " The affect was instantaneous. Abusa stiffened and quaked almost unnoticeably. The pirate turned reporter may have skin harder than some rocks, a fantastically useful Devil Fruit, and combat skills and experience of one of the top dogs of Paradise, but it seemed even lions know when they were outclassed and outmatched.

A moment passed like sake on the tongue, and Abusa shifted. He cradled the sack of coin, but his eyes were narrowed with a final question.

"Why?"

He laughed again. There was the question at the center of everything. Why were they involved in what seemed to be a clear-cut pirates vs. marines confrontation in the New World, the ocean they focused on the least, because it was already lawless? Why were they focused on a single Marine base in particular?

"There's a war brewing, whether we interfere or not, Absalom, and one side has to give. The strongest aren't going to survive this battle, and no matter what, the fallout is going to shake the world to its very core. But why rely on luck and chance when you can rig the game in your favor? When they fall  _we_ shall take their place, and this whole world will know a brand new era. Our era!"

* * *

**Day 2: 5:00 A.M.**

Marco had found his way to the secluded dock he had summoned his friends to entirely by accident. He had really just been wandering about, until he had somehow managed to stumble across a rather suspicious scene.

There had been a single Marine standing by the rocky outcrop the phoenix had elected to hide within, on the edge of the base yard, muttering into a transponder snail. Every bit of the man's posture had suggested that he was up to something; honestly he had seemed more like a fugitive than Marco himself did, in that moment.

Most importantly, the man had been reporting to some authoritative sounding voice on the other end of the line about some "suspicious dock" that the Vice-Admiral in charge had personally announced off-limits months ago, due to some kind of fault in the cavern's structural integrity.

The furtive man had made sure to specify that he was sure "that the Vice-Admiral had no idea what those words even mean" and that none of the surveillance in the cavern worked any longer.

All in all, it was definitely suspicious, and wonderfully convenient.

So Marco had found his way to the sanctioned off dock and directed his brothers in.

"'Bout time." Haruta muttered as they disembarked the little dinghy, stretching their legs and cracking all sorts of sore joints in the slovenly way only truly experienced sailors could manage. "Where's Ace?"

Marco shrugged. "I lost him in the river."

The scandalized look Vista shot him had been expected. But really, what could Marco have done?

"Well," Izo pursed her lips, "this plan is just going great."

The phoenix sighed. Criticism was not what any of them needed right now. But she had a point, considering they had barely begun and already screwed themselves over. "Let's just go find some place that can tell us where the hell Thatch is being held."

"Right," Vista agreed, eyebrows turned towards the sky with some kind of mix of anticipation and exasperation, "What about the boat?"

Marco surveyed the area. In the dark, it was nearly impossibly to distinguish the identity of all the dark, shrouded shapes scattered around the cavern, but there were some other small crafts bobbing in the water that he could barely make out in the gloom.

"Leave it, there's plenty of junk here, and this place is supposed to be off-limits. Nobody will notice."

He really should not have said that, but he did. Just as they were all walking away, a light turned on somewhere on the other side of the cavern. It wasn't nearly bright enough to illuminate them or anywhere close to their position, but it did reveal a huge lumbering figure rising from the floor.

"What a suuuuper nap!" A loud voice echoed over to them as two disproportionately gigantic arms lifted into the air in a stretch.

"Off-limits, huh?" Izo muttered, fingering her pistol's handle. Marco motioned for the group to be still and quiet. Whoever-or whatever-was over there hadn't noticed them yet, and he wasn't about to give their position away.

The bizarre figure began to fiddle around with the dark constructs around him, humming in a loud rumble, and seemed to be thankfully turned away from their position.

The phoenix gave the signal to scram, and as one they crept away from the dock back to the lightless passage from which he had originally entered.

Until Vista mistepped, and just a single foot-wide square gave way under his foot, like some kind of trigger.

Observational Haki was the only thing that saved them from being bisected by the axe that suddenly came swinging down upon them from the darkness above.

It did not, however, prevent Haruta from losing a chunk of his sleeve to it, and screaming "Holy fuck!" in the highest pitch voice that Marco had heard in years.

The big guy-thing across the way jerked his head up.

"Shit, just run!" Marco hissed, shoving Haruta forward. Another bad move, as when Izo moved to follow, her sandal caught onto some kind of wire lying across the floor, and Vista stepped on some sort of tiny contraptions on the ground as he stumbled in the murky gloom of ocean fog and shadow.

Marco smelled the gas immediately. "Go, go!" He yelled out this time, running for all he was worth the moment the others kicked themselves in gear. The wire Izo had pulled must have been some kind of ignition device, as he saw a spark tracing along the ground as he ran.

Behind them, the walls started spitting fire like flamethrowers, and the blast of heat was so hot it singed their backs.

Hot licks of flame burst into the passage right after them as they dashed through, and for a moment, Marco sardonically wondered if this was some kind of karmic retribution placed upon him for leaving a certain Fire Fist behind.

* * *

**Day 2: 8:00 A.M.**

"Zoro!" The came echoing down the hall to him and he did not even blink. The tinge of panic in it was normal after all, since the secretary was always freaking out over something or another, high-strung as he was. Typical Usopp.

Nonchalantly, Zoro turned back towards the office, hand rubbing over the handle of Kuina's blade. Patience.

The distressed sniper collided with him before he could make two steps, hands waving in the air, holding some kind of glossy paper.

"What," He grunted, trying to escape the reach of the flailing arms, and paused when an elbow swung dangerously close to his nose, "is it, now?" A while back, he wouldn't be fazed at all by any kind of impending blow by Usopp, considering he used to be a complete stick, but nowadays, after Zoro had personally instructed him in weight training, the younger man was ripped. An elbow to the face would definitely hurt now.

"Pi-pi-pirate!" The sniper wailed, shoving his paper-cut inducing weapon into Zoro's face, and again the swordsman had to mentally restrain himself. Patience.

On the page was Whitebeard's second division commander, a half-dressed man with fair, freckled skin and dark wavy hair, and an almost familiar grin. Zoro couldn't remember immediately what the smile was reminiscent of, so he let the brief thought go, figuring if he couldn't initially recall, it probably wasn't all that important.

"Yes," Zoro grinds out, focusing on the idiocy going on before him, "that's a pirate."

"No!" Usopp snapped, shaking his head so hard his hair escaped his bandana, "Well, okay, yes, but that's  _not_  what I meant!"

Zoro waited, measuring the sniper with an even stare. Usopp was generally neurotic on the best of days, but most of that was over exaggerating his own feelings since he was so used to always acting out. But there were days when the sniper division captain was absolutely spot-on with his worry, considering he was by no means a stupid or unobservant man.

Forcing himself to acknowledge the current situation, Zoro admitted it might just be one of those days.

Usopp took a breath, began again, broke off, and took another for good measure. Days at sea and experience in battle had taught him ways to steady himself, at least.

"Last night I went fishing—"

"In the river with no fish?"

"Yes, in the river with no fish. Except I caught something."

"Look, you idiot, now's not the time for your—"

"I'm not lying this time!"

Zoro believed that, as Usopp only ever really weaved stories for Luffy, Chopper, and occasionally Brook, knowing full well that the rest of them would fall for his bull on the same day Zoro let Kuina's katana rust.

"I pulled a guy out of the river. Which seemed weird at the time, but lots of weird stuff happens here, Luffy's in charge, for god's sake, and if that's not the weirdest—"

Zoro interrupted with a grunt, and Usopp backtracked to the actual topic of relevance. A calloused finger points at the cheerfully grinning Fire Fist.

"Right. So the sketchy guy, I only just realized,  _was definitely_ this guy!"

Patience. Quiet breath in, quiet breath out. Something excited and bloodthirsty bubbled in his chest, and his hands slid to the hilts of his swords habitually.

One of the strongest active pirates sailing the world's oceans, one whose name was so infamous that citizens quivered when they spoke it, was somewhere on this blasted rock they called a base.

Sadly, the pirate commander was no swordsman, but thankfully he would without a doubt be a tough opponent, as most Logia fruit users were. And there was a chance that there was a talented swordsman with him, as Zoro seriously doubted that the Emperor famous for being protective over his men would send a single crewman to fetch a captured comrade all alone.

A viciously ruthless grin stretched across his face.

But before he could go hunting, he had to take care of his responsibilities outside of battle.

"Go report this to Luffy and Sanji. There's probably other's about, so keep it discreet. They've shown up sooner than expected, but if they don't know we're onto them, we still have the advantage."

Usopp gulped, nervous sweat making its way down his wan face. "Right." He nodded, gathered his bravado, and set off into a hurried, but resolute strut.

Zoro grinned proudly after him, recalling the broken wreck of a kid they first encountered what felt like a lifetime ago. Their sniper still had a ways to go, but his progress was still not bad at all.

Now, it was time for him to track down some pirate scum.

* * *

**Day 2: 8:00 A.M.**

She felt confident walking through this portion of the base. This particular ship bay, built into the cliffs, was private and sealed off from any without clearance, aka the whole base with the exception of ten people. Normally that would not be enough to keep curious troops away, but the ghost stories and severe security sure helped. Franky's workshop was his and his alone, though he often left and worked among the other shipwrights on the docks, but this spacious, echoing room held his special and discreet projects. The bay was an old cavern in the harbor's cliffs that had been converted and walled with steel. Every sound always echoed, including the heavy ringing of a hammer against metal that sang through the air all around her. Music was blaring out of the speakers built into the walls, mixing in with the racket of a heavy cyborg at work. Her movements were silent in comparison, until she announced her presence when her eyes fell on the great curve of his back. "Working hard?"

Franky turned to her with a friendly grin, unsurprised. His usually immaculately  _blue_ hair was streaked with machine grease, and his skin shined with sweat, but his characteristic energy remained. "You can say that again!" He barked out a laugh, lifting up his sunglasses to look at her. Heaven knows why he needs sunglasses indoors when the sun was barely up in the sky. "What's a pretty lady like you doing down here so early in the morning?"

She smiled at him congenially, "A request from the commander. It seems that little project of yours is going to be needed sooner than anticipated." She glanced about for said project, but the machines all around her were almost undecipherable. She supposed some were engines, but the others she could only guess about. Franky was currently beating at a cylindrical piece of sheet metal, but she has no inkling at to what it would be for.

Franky blinked at her before refocusing on the work before him, tapping patiently at it with his hammer. "Eh? I know. Luffy just came by yesterday to tell me he needed it to be done soon."

She chuckled under her breath. The problem with the base's layout was that Franky somehow ended up almost isolated from the rest of the base's activity. The cutoff was the reason for him journeying out of his bunker to work in the open so often. "Unfortunately, the situation has changed since yesterday. We need it completed sooner than soon."

His face was contorted in a gruff frown as he turned back to her, "Pah! Well, that's just totally suuuuper." He muttered unenthusiastically at first, but soon brightened up again seconds later. He had an insatiable appetite for challenge, after all. "Heh, no matter, something like this is a cinch for me! After the all-nighter I pulled, this baby's gonna be complete by tonight."

"Really? You're amazing, Franky." The words come surprisingly honestly, and she did feel genuinely impressed. He clearly appreciated the praise, knowing her approval in the past was not so easily earned.

"This is nothing! I'll even have time to put the finishing touches on that other project of mine…" He drifted off at the end, wistful. Franky had been boasting about his little pet project for weeks, calling all sorts of bizarre materials in secret, all hidden within the base's budget, and smuggling them away before anybody saw them. Luffy had been eager to crack the mystery for roughly an hour, a long time for him, and had then lost interest.

"The one you still refuse to show anybody?" She teased, partly to hide her own curiosity. Franky was not a secretive man, and she could not help but find his rare secrets enticing.

"It's a surprise! You better not have been peeking, Nico Robin!" His answering laugh was good-natured.

"I would never dream of it."

Her arms sprouted along the floor behind her in a long line, pushing forward a cart borrowed from the kitchens. She couldn't help but chuckle as Franky immediately perked up, metal nose caught by the intoxicating scent of Sanji's cooking.

"That breakfast?"

"Of course."

"SUPER!"

Robin selected her own mug of coffee from the cart as it passed, before taking advantage of Franky's distraction via buttermilk biscuits with gravy, baked fruits, quiche, and stuffed French toast. Her own breakfast had been far less heavy, and hadn't included bottles of Cola for refueling, but even she had to admit it smelled divine, so it was no surprise Franky fell upon it like a starved wolf. With the cyborg unfocused on her snooping, she was free to wander around his workshop a little. She still recognized very little of what was around her, so decided to go look at the finished pieces that were in the water at the mouth of the ship bay. The Mini Merry II was there, bobbing in the water cheerfully as always, but seemed bizarrely excited, rising and falling in the  _still_  water.

She took note of the other crafts tied to the dock, noting there was a little dinghy she didn't recognize. It was a rickety thing, plain wood with paddles, and most importantly, decidedly unFranky.

"Franky?" She called out, before summoning a head on the cyborg's shoulder when he didn't respond.

"Hmmm? Something wrong?" He asked.

"Did you have any visitors last night?"

"Somebody snuck around and triggered a bunch of my traps. I figure it was just some newbies, ya know?"

Robin kneeled, inspecting the remains and wreckage of said traps. In the clutter of some broken device, she found a torn scrap of cloth, green, smelling starkly of salt and the sea.

Soldiers on their base were all required to wear their uniforms at sea, and she was familiar with each custom uniform the higher officers often wore. The fabric was of South Blue origin, based on its texture, and matched no uniforms or clothes that saw long voyages on base.

She stood, rolling the scrap in her hand. "I find that unlikely. Can you come here? I believe we have some, ah, vermin to take care of."

* * *

**Day 2: 9:00 A.M.**

He had arrived on base just a month ago, which made him the rookie of his unit, and therefore the natural delegate for all shit nobody else wanted to do.

Like giving some G7 guys a tour of their base instead of preparing for imminent invasion via the strongest-and-quite-possibly-angriest pirate in the world. So here he was, greeting a group of twenty or so Marines he didn't know on the docks, early in the morning. They weren't an unusual bunch for Marines of the New World, with non-regulation haircuts and uniforms and curious weapons, and particularly unremarkable compared to the quirky personalities he had grown used to encountering on base. He noted one due to his extraordinarily long and very square nose that was reminiscent of the Sniper division, and a few others because they looked and acted just plain bizarre. Who had a zipper for a mouth anyway?

But whatever, the head doctor on base was furry with a blue nose, so he really couldn't bring himself to care about why the one with long pink hair was attempting to cut open his own stomach on their nice, clean dock, just that he stopped before Captain Nami saw and decided to charge them for vandalism and neglect.

"Can we start the tour now?" He groaned at the one that seemed to be the leader, a tall man with funky facial hair and a pigeon. "I don't want to get robbed so early in the morning."

"Robbed?" The little bird perched on the visitor's shoulder echoed.

"Nothing," He replied, maybe a little too quickly, considering the raised eyebrow the goatee man gave him. "What was your name again?"

"Were we not about to begin the tour?" The blond woman cut in, and  _wow,_ she was pretty. Like, Captain Nami pretty, just in different ways.

"Oh, right. We ready to go?" He addressed the rowdy group that were arguing off to the side, with the two huge guys and one with a greasy black ponytail who looked more like a thug from G5 than a Marine. The woman, square-nose, horn-guy, and weasel boy standing behind goatee were more behaved, along with the less interesting others.

"Sure, whatever, let's get this over with already," Pony-tail thug grunted, looking positively thunderous, and he was tempted to point out that he didn't want to be here either, and was perfectly willing to let them get lost on their own, but figured he should play nice with visiting divisions. Might get him off this crazy base sooner.

"Okay, let's start then. Welcome to G9, one of the smaller Marine bases in the New World, and  _the_ one with the most sweltering weather and most absolute _nothing_ around. We've got a several training fields on the other side of base, one forested, the others covered in very, very exciting  _sand._  Feel free to make use of these facilities over the duration of your stay, just try not to die of dehydration, because we probably won't find your body for a while."

Nobody even chuckled as he talked, some tough crowd, huh? Whatever. He was too exasperated for laughter anyway.

"Once we step off these docks we'll be in the shipyards, and if you actually look where I'm pointing you'll see many of the entrances to the actual base. We have many buildings here on G9, and to maximize air-conditioned space and minimize the amount of time we have to spend in the blazing heat in the summer, these buildings are connected with bridge corridors that link together the third floors. One, as you can see, even goes over the Boiling Brook, the river that runs into the harbor. This river brings in the extremely hot water from the Southern side of the island, in the Blistering Strip, so try not to fall in. On particularly hot days, men have come out with third degree burns—"

He talked mostly on reflex, spewing out the things he had learned about the base during his month stay. It helped to be a motor mouth, sometimes. He was on a roll, about to lead the group into the administration building and introduce them to the true wonders of air-conditioning when the pigeon interrupted him.

"Where's the pirate?" It chirped, but he was pretty sure that Goatee was just a master of ventriloquism and was really the one speaking, even if he didn't look remotely like the kind of guy to try that kind of joke. But the question caused him to pause.

He and everyone else of base had been confused and anxious over the topic of the captured Whitebeard pirate, and he was ashamed to admit that almost mutinous thoughts had been swirling under the surface of recent events. But a base must always put aside its own internal issues and stand as a united front when faced with outsiders, fellow Marines or not.

"That's not of any concern right now." And it wasn't any of their business. There were plenty of things on base he didn't understand, the base commander's decision to put all of them directly in the line of fire of an Emperor one of them, but there were the others: the singing he heard in the halls, the purpose behind the presence of strange, unregistered people like the green-haired swordsman, the blue-haired Speedo guy, and the elusive woman he glimpsed sometimes. Some twisting feeling in his gut told him to keep his mouth shut about all of those things. It wasn't any of their business, absolutely not.

The swordsman had saved his entire division, two weeks ago, from an ambush on the high seas, tearing apart the murderous scum with two katana in his hands and one in his mouth. The Pirate Hunter, everyone called him that, Roronoa Zoro.

The Speedo guy, Franky, was a fun and always there to talk with anyone who needed to, always working in the carpenters area with a smile and laugh. He had big hands and a metal body, not to mention a terrible idea of fashion, but he blasted loud music and always offered cool drinks on training days, and was all around a great guy.

He had never spoken to the woman, it seemed like nobody ever did, or if they did they weren't being forthcoming about it. She seemed to be perpetually reading, and could be spotted sitting on a balcony if one looked hard enough or glimpsed for brief moments out of the corner of the eye in one walked the aisles of the library. She was a forbidden topic for the most part; Captain Sanji seemed to be able to hear anything and everything in the mess hall and was notorious for despising gossip, and would shut down any mention of her with a kick, and Captain Nami,  _his_ Captain, or Captain Usopp always seemed to pop up and derail the conversation everywhere else.

He trusted his Captain, admired her, so he kept his mouth shut.

It was just a precaution, because it's not like these guys were here to dig up secrets anyway, right?

* * *

Ace had never been so grateful to run into a tour group in his life. He didn't understand how something so impossibly convenient could present itself on a silver platter to him, who was usually so incredibly unlucky, but hey, he's not going to question it. He snuck after them, keeping out of sight behind stacks of barrels and supplies, and grinned when they began to head into a building.

He'd been lost since he got separated from Marco and pulled from the river, wandering hopelessly in the dark until he was so thoroughly turned around that he hadn't a clue where he should be meeting up with the others. Dawn had come eventually, and he had been forced to try and stay out of sight, at least until he could steal a uniform and change out of his very, very distinctive clothes. He stuck out like a sore-thumb now, orange hat bright in the mid-morning sun, and had been trying to find his way indoors without being spotted by a patrol. Normally, he would just knock some poor trooper unconscious and steal his clothes, but he didn't want to risk anyone being alerted of a hostile presence of base.

He had located many entrances into the buildings, as well as many open caverns for ships carved in the cliffs that joined up directly with said buildings, but was wary of entering the labyrinth that was the inside of most Marine strongholds without any sort of sense of the layout.

He followed the tour in, the strained voice of the guide filtering down, at a safe distance. They had entered through heavy iron doors that he had to catch before they slammed shut, and entered into a long corridor with metal walls and little else. The corridor would take them past the storage rooms and such, he heard, until they reached the stairs that would lead them up to the next two floors, where the administrative offices were. Once he was sure the tour was out of earshot he started opening up the doors on both sides of the hall, locating boxes of supplies and filing cabinets, copying machines and janitorial carts, all typical storage.

A couple minutes of rummaging like an expert, or rather a kid that grew up in a giant heap of trash, and he eventually triumphantly found a cleaning crew outfit, with a matching cap that might obscure his features.

He would have preferred a typical troop's uniform, but he figured the administrative building didn't need to keep those handy.

* * *

"We're being followed." He whispered to the leader, glancing behind them, but only hiding an empty corridor. He turned forward again, feigning to be interested in the rambling of their guide. His boss didn't reply, but he hadn't really expected anything besides the coo of the pigeon.

The blond to his side nodded and agreed, serious as ever. "Yes, but by whom? They can't suspect us already."

"Maybe the base commander sticks a spy on everyone who comes by to visit." He wondered, only half serious, half joking. None of his companions seemed to care.

"People only become suspicious enough to do something like that when they legitimately have something to hide." Unexpectedly, their leader threw in his two cents, the glint of a beast coming down of cornered prey in his eyes.

He almost felt bad for the base commander, but considering that the head of the Navy didn't usually call for a secret, intensive investigation on loyal subordinates, he figured sympathy was unwarranted.

Treason was a crime, after all.

"Hey, does anybody smell flowers?" He heard one of the random Marines that had been sent to accompany them ask his buddy, but paid it no mind.

He never noticed the eye that watched them from the edge of the corridor's ceiling, and was completely unaware of the woman observing them from buildings away.

* * *

Ace realized belatedly, while striding down yet another steel hallway for what felt like the fifteenth time, that he was  _starving._

Awkward.

But justified. After all, he hadn't eaten since some rations the evening before, and now it was midmorning, or at least, it  _was_ last time he saw outside. Why didn't any of these halls have windows, or clocks, or anything besides more metal plating?

And how come he hadn't seen anyone in ages?

Apparently, the administration buildings in this goddess-forsaken hole were actually a very clever disguise for a labyrinth, ingeniously designed to trap wayward intruders. Or all the paper-pushers had just packed up and quit.

At this point, he wasn't sure which situation was more plausible.

But he didn't have time for this nonsensical meandering. Thatch was somewhere in this place and here Ace was, lost beyond belief and entirely separated from Marco and the others. He was starting to wish that they had risked being tapped by the enemy and brought personal transponder snails, because at least then he'd have some kind of way to contact his brothers.

Just then, in some bizarre stroke of luck, as he turned another corner, he found himself in a broader, but still vacated lobby, dotted with cleaning supplies and renovation equipment. More importantly, there was, miraculously, an emergency evacuation map placed on the wall.

Just a productive few minutes later, and Ace found himself in much more frequented halls, making his way down towards the mess, equipped with a janitor's cart and everything. Some troops even waved awkwardly at him as they went by.

Sometimes, the Marines just made stuff like this too easy.

And goddess of the sea, the smell wafting through the air was heavenly. Clearly, somebody in this place needed to quit their dull life of military-paid minimum wage pay checks and take to the free world to become a professional chef. It would be illegal for government workers to eat food that smelled so good, if he could do anything about it. He needed to devour something soon, because his thoughts were starting to derail like they always did when he was running low on blood sugar.

Well, this was probably why taxes were so high. All the people's money was being wasted on fancy meals for rundown bases in the middle of nowhere.

(Why did he care? He didn't even pay taxes.)

He forced down a fond smile, recalling days spent gazing through snow-lined windows in the evening, watching wealthy families casually eating feasts of rich meat and fresh fruit. He would stand there in the cold, wondering if he would someday treat such lavish food so mundanely. When he was famous pirate, his younger self had promised so long ago, he'd never go hungry again.

And neither would Luffy, because he would take care of his baby brother, even when he was feared worldwide and rich.

Well, here he was, stomach and hands both empty, of food and of brothers.

But Marco and the others had to be somewhere, he mentally kicked himself to punctuate the reminder, and they would get Thatch back no matter what.

And maybe someday soon he'd get to see that smile again.

But getting fed came first, so no time for missing what he could still get back. Rescuing took energy after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, everyone! I finally made an Ao3 account, so I'm posting my stuff; Home Free, though still important to me, is on hiatus! As in, for the foreseeable future, there will be no updates! I'm sorry...


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